


Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Series: Cris + Leo + Ney [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: FC Barcelona, Football | Soccer, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Real Madrid CF, Relationship Problems, Self Confidence Issues, Thoughts of Self-harm, Threesome - M/M/M, Training, Work In Progress, mumps (haha)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3699755">Five Times Neymar Walked in on Them & One Time He Finally Joined In</a>.</p><p>And then Neymar gets it. </p><p>Gets that Cristiano wants to talk to Leo, alone.</p><p>Without Neymar.</p><p>He feels something strange inside his chest, as if someone were reaching in and squeezing--squeezing hard--putting pressure on his heart and lungs and everything inside him. It's tight, everything is tight, like there isn't enough room for air, there isn't room for anything. He can feel the blood rushing through his ears, drowning out all the sounds around him. And now he isn't saying anything and they must both be staring at him, both waiting for him to leave, to go to the bathroom by himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I made things a teensy bit confusing, but this is the direct sequel to [Five Times Neymar Walked in on Them & One Time He Finally Joined In](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3699755). The story [Snapshots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301616) is still in this universe, but that is meant to be more like one-shots or outtakes from the main stories.
> 
>  
> 
> This story starts in early August, after Cristiano Ronaldo missed some preseason games due to back pain.
> 
> Please note, in the first chapter there are brief thoughts about self-harm.

Neymar follows Leo through Cristiano's house and up the stairs. It looks a lot bigger without the hordes of people he remembered from last time. Okay, it's pretty much a mansion... Not that Neymar expected anything different. At least this time he's actually invited--although it was more like Leo was invited and Leo assumed Neymar would be joining him. And, well, Neymar did want to come, but he kinda would have liked his own personal invitation.

When they come to the door to Cristiano's bedroom, Leo knocks softly before opening the door and going inside. Neymar timidly follows behind. He's utterly aware of the fact that the last time he'd opened this door, this exact door all those months ago, it had been to see Cristiano fucking Leo up against the wall--something that had changed things between all three of them forever. 

Except, had it? 

Okay, it had. 

But... Neymar still feels... Well, like he isn't *exactly* essential in the bigger scheme of things. 

He sighs, watching as Leo drops their bags and starts to head over to where Cristiano's relaxing on the bed. It's nice to see Cristiano, of course, especially since they were slightly concerned when the news had come out that he'd been injured. The man in question looks disgruntled, wearing a tank top and pajama pants, having been in bed all day trying to take the pressure off his back.

"No, no, no," Cristiano says, pointing at Leo and stopping him in his tracks. "You probably smell like the plane. You know I hate that." He ignores Leo's pout and smiles at Neymar. "Both of you are showering before you get anywhere near me."

Neymar leans against the door jamb. "Do you want to join us?" he says, heart hammering in his chest, feeling a bit daring suggesting it. He always gets nervous when he tries to initiate things with Cristiano, never knowing exactly where they stand. He bites his lip and tries to look alluring, fluttering his eyelashes while tilting his head back and stretching his arms over his head.

Cristiano's eyes look amused as opposed to aroused, but they stay focused on Neymar's face. "Fuck," he says, raising an arm behind his head. "I'd love to," he says, "but my back is just..." He grimaces. "I'll have to skip this one." He starts to rake his eyes down Neymar's body before looking back at Leo, who has stepped towards the bed. "Don't you dare, gorgeous," he admonishes, smiling.

Leo drops to his knees beside the bed. "Not even a kiss hello?" he says softly, tilting his head to the side and curling his fingers in the duvet. Neymar watches as he leans forward and rests his elbows on the bed, pushing his ass out attractively. And if Neymar were bolder, he'd follow Leo's lead, crowding up beside the bed, reaching out and sliding a hand up Cristiano's thigh...

Cristiano reaches a hand out towards Leo as if he's going to caress his face, but at the last second he flattens his hand and nudges him backwards, pushing him away without much strength while laughing. "Not even!"

Neymar smiles, watching as Leo sighs dramatically, pouting first at Cristiano before looking sulkily over his shoulder. Neymar just shrugs at him and blows him a kiss. "You heard him, babe. Shower first."

Cristiano's laugh dies down, looking at Leo consideringly before his eyes dart back over to Neymar. "Speaking of... Why don't you go get the water started," he says, nodding towards the bathroom. 

Neymar blinks at him, not understanding, watching as Leo turns back to Cristiano. He can't see the look on Leo's face, but then Leo turns back towards him and gives him a soft smile. "Go on. I'll be right there, Ney," he says, looking warmly at Neymar before facing Cristiano again, hands back on the bed. He inches closer to Cristiano.

And then Neymar gets it. 

Gets that Cristiano wants to talk to Leo, alone.

Without Neymar.

He feels something strange inside his chest, as if someone were reaching in and squeezing--squeezing hard--putting pressure on his heart and lungs and everything inside him. It's tight, everything is tight, like there isn't enough room for air, there isn't room for anything. He can feel the blood rushing through his ears, drowning out all the sounds around him. And now he isn't saying anything and they must both be staring at him, both waiting for him to leave, to go to the bathroom by himself...

Both probably wondering what on earth is wrong with him.

He blindly looks in their direction, seeing but not really seeing, as he desperately tries to control his face, trying to keep his panic from revealing itself. "Of course," he forces out, somehow calmly, eventually taking a quiet, shaky breath. He walks over to the bathroom and goes inside, pulling the door shut behind him to give the other two some privacy. He's never been in Cristiano's bathroom and shouldn't really know what to do, but it's almost as if his body is on autopilot. He walks the length of the room, opens the shower door, and turns on the water.

It's hot when it comes on, Cristiano's shower fancy enough that Neymar doesn't even have to wait for the water to heat up. He uncaringly flicks his fingers through it, droplets splashing up his arm and threatening to get his shirt wet. Then he backs away, wishing the water had been cold, wishing he could have run it over his wrists and spilled it across his face.

He tries to take another breath. But nothing loosens, nothing changes, and his body starts trembling, heart thudding frantically. He can feel his face flushing, body trying to function without oxygen, heat spreading over his skin, pins and needles piercing every inch.

It's not a big deal that Cristiano wants to talk to Leo. And it's not a big deal that Leo just sent Neymar away. They could have things to talk about. Private things that don't concern Neymar. It's probably nothing to do with him.

He moves in slow motion over to get some towels out of the cabinet. There's one in his hand when he gets a little lightheaded.

Because... 

What if it is about him? 

What if Cristiano's changed his mind? And he doesn't want Neymar in the picture anymore? What if he's decided he can take care of Leo by himself? And this whole threesome idea was just a silly experiment?

And...what if Leo agrees...

Neymar feels his world tilt. 

He drops the towel he's holding, fingers limply releasing the cloth to grasp at nothing. His legs grow weak under him, and without meaning to, he sits down right there on the floor. The tile is cool beneath his hands and legs, sending a shock to his burning skin. But it gives him little relief, and he tugs his tshirt off desperately--sweat beginning to bead all over his body. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling like he's been doing sprints, and curls up into a little ball--trying to find comfort, trying to calm down as the room spins and his stomach churns. 

It's not enough. 

He wants to pound his fists against the floor in frustration, wants to scream at the top of his lungs, wants to throw up all over that lovely cream colored tile.

But instead he does none of that.

He turns on his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the floor as if in prayer, taking deep shuddering breaths to keep from passing out. But he doesn't pray. He can't. Not about this. 

His fingers half claw at the floor, nails scratching at nothing, hands just opening and closing, spasming and twitching--his body not knowing what to do.

When the need to scream bubbles up again, he bites at the fabric of his shirt, teeth clenching viciously. Gold spots are dancing across his eyes and he stifles a sob before squeezing them shut. He keeps everything in, doesn't cry out, doesn't scream.

For a moment he just stays on the floor.

Neymar doesn't know for how long.

But the bathroom door stays closed.

And he remains alone.

Eventually steam from the hot water begins to fill the room, fogging up the shower and the mirrors, and misting lightly over Neymar. He shivers, the sweat on his body cooling rapidly and the tile feeling hard beneath him. With effort, he sits up gingerly and leans back against the cabinets. His shirt falls from his teeth and lands next to him on the floor in a heap. He picks it up and twists it through his fingers, tilting his head back and banging it deliberately against the wood.

Then he does it again.

It hurts a little, but not nearly as much as the thought that maybe he'll lose Leo and Cristiano.

The room's no longer spinning, but Neymar's vision starts to blur so he reaches a hand up to his eyes. His fingers come away wet, and he merely blinks slowly, looking at his hand, surprised the tears took this long to come. He shakes his head and stands up, kicking off his shorts, briefs, and sandals. They land harmlessly near his shirt and the dropped towel. 

He almost doesn't give them a second thought. 

But they look wrong--scattered throughout Cristiano's pristine bathroom--like they don't belong. 

Neymar numbly picks up his clothing. He doesn't know why. Everything's dirty, and they're just going to go in the laundry when he gets home. After all, he's not going to wear them again--he brought more than enough clothes to wear. But still, he folds the shirt and shorts mindlessly, tucking the briefs in between before setting the pile on the counter. Then he sets his sandals next to each other and places them alongside the cabinet. One shoe is crooked, and he nudges it with his toe until it's straight, trying to make them orderly, trying to make them seem right.

They still look wrong. Still look out of place.

He doesn't pick up the towel, achingly tired all of a sudden, afraid if he bends down that he won't be able to stand back up. Naked and shivering, he stares into the mirror. His reflection is mostly obscured from the mist, and out of habit, he reaches out and draws a heart onto the glass. His finger glides smoothly through the fog, his heart appearing easily, even if it's a little lopsided. As some of the fog disappears, he can finally see himself clearly in the clean lines he's created. 

He doesn't like what he sees.

Angrily, he almost swipes the heart away. 

But he stops himself at the last second, hand hovering over the mirror. 

He can't do it. 

No, he *won't* do it.

Instead, he stands there, watching as the heat from the shower slowly causes the mirror to fog up again. His heart starts to disappear, growing fainter and fainter, until soon it's hidden completely. As the steam swirls around him, Neymar tries to convince himself he can still see it. Through his tears and the wet fog, he pretends his heart is still there. 

Still there, if one knows where to look.

He wonders if anyone will.

He shakes his head and turns to the shower. It's clearly too hot, the air still thick with steam. His first instinct is to just get in--to let the water burn him, let it scald him, turn his skin red and give him blisters. He could pretend it was an accident, pretend he didn't understand how Cristiano's shower worked... He watches the water beat against the shower door, steam still rising, and wonders. 

It would hurt. 

It would hurt a lot. 

His fingers twitch on the door handle, half a second from opening it and sliding in. But he hesitates. 

He's tired of hurting.

He sighs, opens the door, and adjusts the temperature to a more normal one. Then he slips into the stall, letting the water pour directly onto his face in an attempt to wash his tears away. It doesn't really work. But there's still something soothing about standing directly underneath the shower head, even if it's tough to breathe as the water rains down on him. He breathes in through his mouth, blowing out water when it runs over his lips. 

He's not in there long when he hears the bathroom door open and shut, signaling Leo's finally deigned to join him. 

Neymar sighs, not really knowing exactly how much time has passed since he entered the bathroom, but he's sure it's been awhile. Which means that Cristiano and Leo had a lengthy conversation. Neymar flattens his palms against the wall and tips his head to soak his hair, figuring he should probably act like he's been in the shower for awhile too.

The stall door opening sends a chill through the steam, but Leo's quick to close it and then press up against Neymar's back. Neymar holds back a groan, loving the feel of Leo's slim body against his. "Sorry, that took a bit," Leo murmurs, kissing Neymar's shoulder and wrapping pale arms around Neymar's belly. His lips move to Neymar's neck, slowly dropping kisses over the wet skin. "Did you wash your hair yet?"

Neymar leans back into Leo's embrace, arching into Leo's kisses. "Mmmm, not yet," he says, closing his eyes. His hands smooth over Leo's arms, tracing where he knows Leo's tattoos are. "Everything okay?" he asks, trying not to seem too interested, but at the same time hoping Leo will have some reasonable excuse that will put Neymar's mind at ease. 

And then Neymar will laugh at how he got worked up and had a panic attack over nothing.

It'll be so funny...

But Leo exhales against Neymar's neck, his fingers stroking Neymar's stomach. Then he nudges him to the side. "Ah, yeah," he says nocholantly, ducking his head under the water to wet his hair. He reaches for a bottle of Cristiano's shampoo and squirts some into his hand. Neymar opens his eyes and watches, shivering slightly now that he's not directly under the water. "It's just, well," Leo says, rubbing his hands through his hair, scratching roughly as the shampoo foams up,"we'll talk about it later." 

Neymar feels that squeezing pressure inside of him again. He watches the soap run in rivulets down Leo's chest, before numbly taking the bottle of shampoo and adding a little to his own hair. "Oh, okay," he says, waiting for his turn under the water, shutting his eyes again, trying to will the tears not to come. He leans against the cold tile, feeling goosebumps spread over his skin. He can hear Leo rinsing the shampoo out and afterwards the squirt of what he assumes is conditioner. Then Leo's hands are on his hips and he's being maneuvered back under the water.

"Sorry Ney," Leo says, running his hands up and down Neymar's arms to warm him up. "You'd think Cris' shower would be bigger, hmm?" he says, amused, expecting Neymar to laugh. When Neymar doesn't reply, Leo hums and starts to massage Neymar's scalp. "I love your hair," he murmurs, gently working the shampoo into a lather. "It's so different from mine."

Neymar keeps his eyes shut as Leo begins combing his fingers through the short strands, and then carefully draws his head back under the water to rinse. It's intimate... having someone wash his hair--something he's never really experienced like this. At any other time Neymar would probably really enjoy the feeling, but right now he's too depressed, and all he can think about is how this might be the last time he's ever with Leo...

That makes him open his eyes in a hurry. 

Because if it's the last time he's ever allowed to be with Leo, well, he's certainly going to enjoy it. 

When he blinks the water out of his eyes he sees Leo's smiling tenderly at him, eyes bright although clearly tired. And Neymar can't help smiling back--no--grinning back. 

Because it's Leo. It's *Leo*. 

And despite everything, Neymar is still so desperately in love with him.

So he puts everything else out of his mind, ignores everything--except the fact that Leo's with him, right here, right now.

He straightens up to his full height and Leo's hands drop from playing with his hair to lock behind his neck. Neymar's own hands come to rest on the small of Leo's back, gently holding him close. They're both shivering slightly now, each half under the water and half out of it, and Neymar presses Leo closer until their bodies are molded against each other. "Leo," Neymar whispers, sliding a hand up Leo's spine, up that slippery skin, before threading it in his silky, wet hair and tugging lightly.

Leo's smile disappears, his mouth falling open. "Oh," he whimpers, blood quickening and cheeks flushing as he starts breathing heavier. He licks his lips and rises onto his tiptoes, sliding a hand to cup Neymar's jaw. 

Neymar tugs Leo's hair harder, pulling his head back and then dips down to kiss the long line of his throat. His other hand palms Leo's ass, cupping a plump cheek and squeezing. He loves Leo's ass, loves his skin, loves his body... Fuck, he loves everything about Leo. Every time he sees him, talks to him, touches him, Neymar can't help but get excited.

And for the first time that night, Neymar's heart is racing for the right reasons.

Leo moans, jerking against him, eyes fluttering shut and pressing himself closer to Neymar. Neymar grins. He mouths Leo's throat, kissing and sucking, probably leaving marks, feeling Leo's pebbled nipples against his chest--and Leo's hard cock rubbing against his between their bellies. He grins harder as Leo begins panting and rolling his hips, creating a delicious friction between them.

Both of Neymar's hands slide to Leo's ass, grabbing the firm globes, thrusting against him vigorously. It's not enough, and he presses Leo up against the wall. Leo gasps, surprised, and Neymar takes advantage of his shock, holding his wrists up against the wall too. The water's streaming down Neymar's back, spurring him on, as he grinds against Leo frantically, mindlessly, urged on by Leo's dark eyes and breathy moans.

He's so focused on staring into Leo's eyes, watching as those eyelashes flutter with every twist of his hips, that it takes him a minute to notice that Leo's lips are turning purple. Neymar frowns, seeing that Leo's teeth are chattering a bit as his body trembles. "Are you..?" Neymar asks, breathlessly, slowing his thrusts and letting go of Leo's wrists. His cock throbs between them.

Leo laughs, wrapping his arms around Neymar's neck immediately. "I'm sorry," he says, hugging Neymar to his body. "The wall's so fucking cold," he says, smiling, still shaking. He plasters himself against Neymar and wiggles, seeking his warmth.

Neymar winces, feeling Leo's chilled hands cling to him. The hot water's still pouring over his back and he tugs Leo forward until he's the one under the stream. Leo hums contentedly, tucking his face into Neymar's neck and fisting his hands behind Neymar's back. 

Neymar cradles his head, sliding a hand up and down his spine.

They're both still hard, but the mood has changed.

"Leo," Neymar says, threading his fingers through Leo's hair. He pulls Leo's face out of his neck, smiling when Leo leans back and looks at him questioningly. "Mmm, give me a kiss, babe," he whispers, moving to smooth a thumb over Leo's cheekbone. He's a little ashamed of himself, having not kissed Leo yet--having pushed him against the wall and rutted against him like an animal... 

But Leo merely licks his lips and smiles sunnily before obliging, rising up on tiptoes again and pursing his lips. 

Neymar dips down to meet him. He brushes his lips against Leo's sweet ones, first lightly and then with more force as Leo opens under him. Leo moans into the kiss, and Neymar in reply flicks his tongue into his mouth teasingly. Leo moans again, twisting his tongue to meet Neymar's, both of them tasting the other.

It's heavenly. 

There's no other word. 

It always is, and Neymar kicks himself for not kissing Leo sooner. His hands settle on Leo's hips, slowing the kiss down, moaning himself as their tongues dance. He never wants it to stop. He should be kissing Leo every minute of every day, kissing him until he falls asleep at night and then kissing him in his dreams.

Neymar pulls back reluctantly--only to take a deep breath--and Leo arches up, panting, and tries to draw him back down. Leo's hands curl into his hair, trying to pull him, trying to reach him, trying to continue the kiss--just as desperate for it as Neymar. Neymar leans down towards him, his face hovering over Leo's, watching Leo's lips part in anticipation. 

And Leo's lips...

They're no longer purple, thankfully, with the hot water raining down on Leo's back and finally warming him up. No, they're not purple. Now they're plump and pink, enticingly shiny and swollen from Neymar's kisses.

"You're so beautiful," Neymar breathes, staring at Leo's flushed face, taking in his blown pupils and quivering lashes. Leo merely stares longingly at him in reply, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. And it's only seconds before Neymar's dipping back down to meet him, to kiss him again, unable to resist Leo's tempting mouth for any longer. 

Leo melts against him, moaning continuously, fingers still curled in Neymar's hair. And so Neymar devours him greedily, licks into him, swallows the gorgeous sounds he's making. He keeps his hands tight on Leo's hips until he finally decides to slide a hand down between them, over Leo's flat stomach to fist that thick cock. It's hot and heavy and leaking in his hand, slick with precome. And Neymar knows if he were to look, it'd be angry and red, pulsing against Leo's belly, eager for relief. 

Leo gasps into his mouth and Neymar smiles into the kiss, starting to pump him. "Beautiful," Neymar mumbles against Leo's lips, both of them breathing heavily as Neymar jerks the throbbing length in his hand. He doesn't know if Leo even understands him--doesn't care either, but it's true, so he says it, and he'd say it a thousand times and it would still be true.

He continues to move his wrist, rolling and twisting, smoothing his thumb over the tip, hand slick and sticky as Leo whines and thrusts into his fist. Neymar can't catch his breath, achingly hard, grinding onto Leo's hip. Leo's slippery, wet skin feels like silk against him and Neymar loves it. They're both getting close, their movements starting to get faster, sloppier, both of them clutching the other frantically.

Leo's fingers yank on Neymar's hair, breaking the kiss and tipping his head back. "Ney," he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm--I'm--," he says breathily, barely audible over the sound of the shower, mouth falling open as he spirals toward completion.

Neymar urges him on, moving his hand faster and faster, listening as Leo's gasps become louder and louder until finally... Leo cries out, burying his face into Neymar's neck and spurting between their bellies. Neymar strokes him through it, wringing every last drop from Leo, feeling the mess splash over his fist and cling to his skin. 

"Neymar," Leo whimpers, shaking, mouth hot against Neymar's throat, "Ney, ohhh." He pants into Neymar's skin, moaning as he gradually comes down and becomes hypersensitive. "You--you didn't--," he says, clearly trying to catch his breath, trying to focus, hands releasing Neymar's hair and sliding down either side of his neck. "Do you want me to--?" he asks questioningly, kissing the base of Neymar's throat.

Neymar shudders, rubbing on Leo's hip in earnest. He palms Leo's ass again, relishing in the feel of those firm cheeks. "Mmmm," he says, squeezing. "Stay just like this... I'm close." The pleasure's building inside him now, and he's barely aware that Leo's murmuring endearments against his skin. His movements become rushed again, cock sliding wetly against Leo, wriggling his hips until at last he grunts and spills between them.

He loses a minute of time, vision whitening out, lungs feeling like they're going to burst as that fiery mix between pleasure and pain burns through his body. When he comes back to himself, it's to Leo's voice whispering sweet nothings into his ear, while his hands smooth over his back. Neymar takes a deep breath, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, and threads his fingers through Leo's hair. "Mmm," he says quietly. "You still have the conditioner in."

Leo lifts his head and smiles, nodding. "And you still haven't used any," he says, licking his lips. But he allows Neymar to spin him around and start rinsing out the product. The water in Cristiano's shower is still luxuriously hot and Leo moans contentedly as Neymar's fingers run through his hair. When Leo's hair is clean, Neymar grabs a washcloth and begins soaping up their bodies, rubbing gently over Leo's chest and then his own--wiping away any lingering mess off their bellies.

His cock half heartedly threatens to come to life again, but Neymar ignores it. Much longer in this shower and he's going to become all pruny. Instead he finishes washing them, softly moving the cloth over Leo's body, tongue flicking out every once in while to suck and kiss the clean skin--tasting water, soap, and something inherently *Leo*. Eventually he deems they're both ready to get out, and reaches over to twist off the water.

Leo blinks drowsily at him, water droplets clinging to his lashes and skin rosy from the hot water, before tugging Neymar by the hand out of the shower. "I brought you some clothes," he says, gesturing toward the sink while picking up the towel Neymar had left on the floor. He wraps it around Neymar's hips and then walks across the room to grab another from the cabinet.

Neymar reaches up to run fingers through his hair, openly admiring Leo's still dripping, naked form. "Thanks," he says belatedly, regarding the clothing, too distracted to reply right away. He's disappointed as Leo dries off quickly, throwing on a tshirt and briefs from another pile on the counter. The briefs stretch teasingly over his plump ass and Neymar has to clench his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out and touching. The briefs though... "Are those CR7s?" he asks, watching as Leo bends over and starts toweling his hair.

Leo rubs the towel over his hair for a few more seconds and then straightens up. His face is red, and Neymar isn't sure if it's from the blood rushing to his head or embarrassment over the question. "Yes," Leo says, curling his lips. "Cris gave them to me. Is there something--do they look okay?" He twists around and looks down at them before back at Neymar, hands clutching the towel and hair sticking up in all directions.

Neymar rolls his eyes, walking over and pulling Leo up against him. He gives into temptation and slides Leo's tshirt up so he can palm Leo's ass. "More than fine, babe," he says, kissing the corner of Leo's mouth and letting his lips linger as Leo sighs against him. 

And it is true. 

Leo looks delicious as always.

But... Neymar distinctly remembers Cristiano pressing up behind him, talking about how Leo refused to wear CR7s, and saying, 'You'd wear them for me, wouldn't you?' And Neymar had been achingly hard, hard from Cristiano's voice and hand and the sight of Leo waiting for them on the bed. But he remembers wanting to wear them, wanting to please Cristiano... And yet, here Leo stands in CR7s, while Neymar has none. The pile of clothing Leo left on the counter is taken straight from Neymar's bag--just a tank top, shorts and a pair of Lupo briefs.

It's a silly reason to get upset. 

But it brings back that feeling that Neymar's not really part of the equation.

And he starts feeling that tightness in his chest again. 

He pulls out of Leo's grasp, hating that he feels jealous. More than that, he hates that he feels jealous of *Leo*. He forces himself to act normally, kissing Leo on the cheek and turning back towards the counter to start running his fingers through his hair again. It's drying rapidly and if he doesn't get it just right then it's going to be a nightmare to deal with tomorrow. At least that's what he tells himself. (But really, at this moment... He. Doesn't. Give. A. Fuck.)

The fog on the mirror has started to disappear as the room begins to cool. Neymar glances over to where he drew his heart. He squints a little. It looks like it's still there. No, it is still there, still lopsided, but still there.

Leo doesn't see it. 

Leo doesn't even look.

Instead Leo hangs his towel up on a rack by the door. "Don't take too long, hmm?" he says, voice gentle as his hand brushes across Neymar's back. Then he opens the door and leaves, shutting it quietly behind him.

Neymar doesn't watch, keeping his eyes focused on his heart on the mirror, but he lets out a long breath once Leo disappears. His skin tingles from where Leo's hand had skimmed his back. It makes Neymar want to storm out there and get down on his hands and knees and beg Leo--*beg them*--to let Neymar stay.

His hands clench on the edge of the counter and he bows his head. His stomach is beginning to churn again, and he takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to hold it off. He monotonously begins to pull on his clothing, hands shaking as he steps into the Lupo briefs. When he's fully clothed, he looks at himself in the mirror one last time, trying to steel himself. 

This time, he doesn't look for his heart.

He hangs up the towel and exits the bathroom, flicking off the light and turning into the bedroom. The cool air is immediately refreshing and he sighs in relief. Then he slows to a stop.

Leo's sprawled on top of Cristiano, holding himself up slightly on his knees so as to not press his entire weight down. Their limbs are loosely entwined. Leo's arms are linked behind Cristiano's neck, his lips nuzzling Cristiano's jaw, while Cristiano's hands languidly trail over Leo's back. It aches of familiarity. As Neymar watches, Cristiano slowly slides Leo's tshirt up his back, a hand smoothing over Leo's skin while the other drifts down and rests on Leo's hip. Leo whispers something into Cristiano's ear, brushing a hand through the taller man's hair.

Neymar forces himself to walk forward, pulse racing, wondering if this is it--if this is the moment that they say they're fine without him... 

And then tell him to get out.

They're not mean people, of course. Leo doesn't have a mean bone in his body. And Cristiano... Well, Neymar hasn't *really* known Cristiano long, but he's never seen Cristiano be cruel to anybody. 

They wouldn't make him leave the house... They'd just make him leave the bedroom and sleep somewhere else, probably smiling and thanking him but being firm in their decision to go back to just the two of them...

As he gets closer, he sees that Cristiano's eyes are shut. Leo turns towards Neymar and smiles. "He took some pain medication while we were in the shower," Leo murmurs, resting his hand on Cristiano's forehead before brushing it through his hair again. "It made him sleepy." Cristiano hums faintly in response, eyes still closed, hand sliding slowly over Leo's bare thigh more instinctively than intentionally.

"Good," Neymar blurts out, overwhelmingly relieved that this isn't happening tonight. His chest loosens, heart beginning to beat normally again.

Leo's brow furrows. "Good?" he repeats, looking at Neymar questioningly. 

Neymar's mind works frantically, looking for a way to recover. "Good that he took something if he was in pain," he clarifies, biting his lip and walking around to the empty side of the bed. He slides in quickly, not wanting to rock the mattress too much.

Leo's expression softens. "Of course," he says, turning back to Cristiano. He bends down and kisses the other man on the cheek, smiling as Cristiano hums again and flexes the fingers on his thigh. "Alright, Cris," he says quietly, "we'll let you sleep." When there's no reply, Leo smooths his hand through Cristiano's hair one final time. "Poor baby," he murmurs, before carefully climbing off Cristiano and settling into the middle of the bed.

Neymar watches him, wanting Leo to cuddle up next to him. And he thinks he's getting his wish as Leo turns to him and leans in. 

But Leo merely kisses him, a feather light touch on his lips. "Goodnight, Ney," he whispers, before turning on his side and facing Cristiano again.

Neymar bites his lip. "Goodnight, Leo," he says quietly. He stares at Leo's back, wanting to reach out and touch. But in the end, he curls his hand into a fist and doesn't. He continues to stare at Leo's back until his eyelids grow heavy, just unbelievably tired from everything.

His last thought, before he falls asleep, is that he wishes Cristiano didn't have such a large bed. 

Because maybe then, he wouldn't feel so alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't as depressing as the last... But, um, that isn't saying much.

Neymar feels sick when he wakes up that morning in Cristiano's bed.

He and Leo leave in a rush, needing to make their plane back to Barcelona. Neymar gets dressed quickly in the dark while Leo does the same. They don't talk, each focused on gathering their belongings quietly. There's not necessarily tension between them. But it feels strange. 

And Neymar can't stop thinking about the night before.

Cristiano's still fuzzy from painkillers and doesn't get up. He barely opens his eyes to say goodbye, and Neymar stands there watching awkwardly as Leo kisses him farewell. And when Leo looks at him expectantly, Neymar bends down and brushes his lips against Cristiano's too. It's not that it's a hassle for him to do so, and of course he doesn't mind, it's just he didn't think Leo would want him to. Cristiano gives him something that looks like a smile, fumbling to pat his arm, and then drifts off again.

Neymar realizes he's been granted a reprieve.

But he feels sick all the same.

And he's a little standoffish with Leo on the trip home as a result, something that makes him immediately feel ashamed. But he's just so anxious, so stressed, continuously wondering why Leo hasn't said anything... And whenever Leo opens his mouth, Neymar finds himself cringing and trying to brace himself. Then he snaps a little at Leo, some twisted sort of defense mechanism. 

Because he's waiting. Waiting for Leo to break things off, regardless of Cristiano's absence. 

And eventually the stress gets to him. 

He sleeps terribly. 

He tosses, turns, stares at the ceiling for hours on end. He goes through training the next day with a pounding headache, just so unbelievably tired and frustrated, lagging behind in drills. Crossing time zones, jet lag, the stress... It doesn't make for a good combination. And they're traveling to Georgia soon, for the game against Sevilla, so it's not like it's going to get any better.

At first Leo stays with him, slowing down and staying right by Neymar's side to keep him company, despite clearly being eager to run ahead. But by the second hour, Leo wanders off and jogs with Luis, having been driven away by a few of Neymar's sharp words. Neymar watches him, wanting to go and apologize, wanting to wrap his arms around him and smile, but simply emotionally exhausted and unable to summon the strength to do so. 

Instead he dribbles slowly behind Jordi and Ivan, by himself, trying to focus on the ball even though he really wants to be anywhere but here. And that's not the way it should be. Because football is supposed to be his greatest love. Except, it's not anymore. Because things have changed, have shifted, and now Leo occupies his every thought. 

Leo and then Cristiano. 

And then football after that.

But he kicks the ball anyway, tries to dance with it, tries to have fun, tries to give everything he has. It doesn't work. He knew it wouldn't. The ball doesn't want to dance with him. He can't force it, can't make it do anything. When he stumbles over thin air, his teammates laugh at him, talking about how Neymar needs to get back into shape. Geri, especially, finds it hilarious, reaching out and touching Neymar's belly every chance he gets.

And it hurts. 

Nothing is funny to Neymar today. He can't crack a smile. He can't even fake it.

It hurts his head and his heart. And strangely enough, it hurts his stomach.

After their morning session Leo approaches him warily in the locker room, sliding a hand over Neymar's hip. "Do you want to get lunch?" he asks cautiously, leaning in as if he's going to kiss Neymar's cheek, regardless of the few teammates watching. It's not something Leo would normally do in front of anyone, and the fact that he's going to sends a little thrill through Neymar. 

Leo smells like dirt and grass and sweat, eyes dark and playful as he gets closer. His hand is hot, burning through Neymar's shirt, moving back and forth restlessly.

And Neymar wants to let him, wants Leo's kisses no matter who is around.

But the thought of eating... It makes Neymar feel ill. "Not hungry," he mumbles, shrugging off Leo's hand, not thinking of anything else except what's in his bag. He brushes by Leo and digs around for pain medication, head still killing him. "Hand me a water, will you?" he asks, holding out a hand. He knows he sounds a little curt, but he needs to take the pills before he can do anything else.

Leo's eyes dim and he turns toward the cooler to pull out the drink. He looks small and hesitant as he places a bottle in Neymar's hand. "You should really eat something, Ney," he says though, licking his lips, soldiering on. "How about you come back to mine and I'll make your favorite--"

Neymar interrupts him. "Fuck, Leo," he growls, tossing back the pills and taking a few swallows of water to wash them down. "My head is killing me." He throws the bottle to the ground, flinching as it smacks the floor loudly. A few heads turn in their direction, but Neymar can't be bothered to care. "Can you please just...!" He covers his eyes and holds a palm out to Leo, just wanting him to stop talking. He takes a couple of deep breaths, only focusing on breathing in and out slowly and ignoring the shooting pain in his head. 

When he opens his eyes, Leo is still there.

This time Leo doesn't say anything. He looks concerned. He reaches out as if to hug Neymar, but again, Neymar ducks out of his reach. Leo's arms remain outstretched for a few seconds before dropping to his sides. 

He stares incredulously at Neymar--Neymar who has never refused a hug in his entire life--and staggers back as if Neymar hit him. 

Leo ends up sitting down on the bench heavily. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead he lowers his head to stare at his bare feet. "I'm sorry." He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

It makes Neymar's heart hurt more. 

Because this isn't what he wants at all, he never wants Leo to look like this, but he's so tired and he aches so much that he can't deal with this right now.

There's angry muttering from off to the side and Neymar looks over to see Dani standing there with Geri. A few of the others are watching incredulously, surprised by the interaction, but none of them move to interfere. "And what the fuck is wrong with you?" Geri asks Neymar dangerously, a towel wrapped around his waist. All of his amusement from earlier out on the training field is gone and he crosses his arms threateningly.

He looks intimidating.

He looks like he wants to hit Neymar.

Neymar's seen Geri look like that before. But never, has that look ever been directed at him.

Neymar forgets sometimes. Geri is his friend and goofs around with him every day, joking and wrestling, forever willing to hang out or play FIFA or go get a meal... They're definitely friends. Good friends, too.

But with Geri, Leo is always first. 

Always.

And really, that's okay. Neymar understands that. He's glad of it actually. Sometimes Leo needs extra protection. But Geri's voice is louder than his head can handle right now.

Leo doesn't look up. "It's okay. It's my fault," he says, looking down, smoothing his fingers over a bruise on his foot. There are quite a few to choose from, purple smudges stark against his pale skin, but he singles one out and prods at it, pushing hard enough that it must hurt. "He has a headache. Don't bother him." His voice is calm and level, despite his body posture screaming that he's upset. Eventually he stops pretending that his feet are so interesting and folds his hands instead, not knowing what to do with himself. He still doesn't look up.

Neymar shuts his eyes, a lump stuck in his throat. Of course Leo would blame himself.

"Your fault?" Geri asks incredulously, looming closer, getting louder, entirely ready to call Leo on that bullshit. He sucks in a breath like he's going to start ranting, but Dani cuts him off.

"Wait, Geri," Dani says quietly. 

And then there's movement near him and cool hands on his forehead, and Neymar groans because it feels so good, but hurts at the same time. His actual skin hurts. It aches. And it won't stop. He tries to turn away, screwing his face up at the sensations, taking a deep breath as the pounding in his head continues.

"He's burning up," Dani says to Geri and Leo, hands wiping sweat off Neymar's forehead before sliding to either side of Neymar's neck, checking his glands. "You're sick, Ney. Why didn't you say anything?" He says it like Neymar's an idiot, which really isn't so difficult from his normal tone. "You shouldn't have trained today."

And Neymar opens his eyes, tiredly focusing on Dani. "I'm not sick," he mutters. "I'm tired. I'm not sick." Because he can't be sick, not with the games coming up, not when the team needs him. "I haven't been sleeping well." He flicks his eyes over to where Leo's still sitting, wanting to say it's because of Leo. But then he sees the miserable look on Leo's face--the look that Neymar put there--and can't say another word.

Dani shakes his head. "Sorry kid, you're sick. Let's go see the doctor. Maybe he can give you something right away." He smooths some of Neymar's hair off his forehead, seemly uncaring that Neymar keeps sweating and then leans down to pick up the water bottle. "Here, drink some more. You're probably dehydrated."

"The flu, you think?" Geri asks Dani, watching as Neymar gulps down the water. His expression is still thunderous and unforgiving so Neymar looks away. "That doesn't usually make you an asshole."

Neymar flinches without meaning to.

"Stop it, Geri," Leo says softly. He stands up and crowds up behind Dani. "I'm sorry, Ney, I should've noticed you weren't feeling well." He looks like he wants to reach out to Neymar again, but in the end he stays behind Dani, still cautious, still afraid. "Do you--do you want me to come to the doctor with you?" He sounds hopeful, desperately wanting to help.

Neymar does want Leo to come with him. 

And he doesn't. 

He's so tired. 

When he doesn't reply, Dani answers for him. "I'll take him, Leo. That way you can shower and when we're finished, you'll be ready to take him home." 

Neymar meets Dani's eyes, wearily nodding. He wants that, wants to go home and sleep. That's all he wants. And he's okay with Leo taking him home. It might be nice. Leo won't break up with him while he's sick. Leo will tuck him in and cuddle him, and it'll be just like it was before...

God... He just doesn't want to be alone...

Leo backs up a step. "Okay," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Okay," he repeats, wiping his mouth with his shirt. "That's a good idea." He looks like he wants to say more, but in the end he takes another step back, looking lost. "I'll just go shower then." 

He stares at Neymar then, as if he's waiting for Neymar to change his mind. When Neymar doesn't say anything--he can't, he wants to but he can't--, Leo continues to back away, only stopping when he bumps into Geri.

Geri is still frowning at Neymar from behind Leo. "See if they can give him anything for his attitude," he says, before slinging an arm around Leo and tugging him away. He hugs him tightly, fingers playing with one of his ears as they head toward the showers. Leo tilts his head into the touch, leaning against Geri's body--accepting the hug Neymar wouldn't give him.

Neymar watches them go, ignoring the others still looking in his direction.

"You ever gonna tell me what's going on there?" Dani asks quietly, lightly placing a hand on Neymar's back and steering him out into the hallway. "Because don't think I haven't noticed things changing. And... you know he's seeing somebody right?" Dani sounds hesitant, clearly trying to be kind. "Somebody we both know." He shields Neymar with his body as they maneuver past a crowd. "Granted, he's kinda an ass, but still, don't think Leo's going to give him up."

"I know," Neymar breathes out, cutting him off, shutting his eyes a little as the lights get brighter. "We aren't--I mean he--everyone knows about... It's complicated," he finally says, not wanting to get into this now, not wanting to think about Leo and Cristiano when his head hurts so badly. 

And why should he explain it to Dani when it might all be over soon anyways?

Dani sighs and continues to lead him down a corridor. "Mmmhmmm, of course it is. Leo doesn't do anything normal... Especially after his last--," Dani abruptly stops talking and shakes his head. "Well, let me know if you want me to beat anyone up for you." He doesn't say anything else, for which Neymar will be forever grateful. 

He loves Dani so much, Dani understands everything. It's nice to have someone on his side. And that's why it's okay that Geri is on Leo's side. Because Dani is on Neymar's side--always. He's his friend, his brother, his family, and he's there for Neymar no matter what.

At least until they hear the diagnosis.

"Mumps?" Dani screams, laughing hysterically. "Oh my god, mumps, oh my god." He literally falls down with laughter right there in the examination room while Neymar stares down at him. Dani bangs his fists on the floor, unable to control himself, cackling madly.

He hates Dani so much. Dani is dead to him.

"Mumps," the doctor confirms, looking worried, both by Neymar's results and the fact that Dani is still rolling around on the floor. He starts talking about percentages and possibilities and incubation times, writing quickly on a bunch of forms and calling in an assistant on the intercom. He keeps shaking his head.

After a few moments what the doctor tells him really starts to kick in, and Neymar stares blankly at him. "But, I was vaccinated. I definitely was. That's like one of those things you have to be vaccinated for. Are you sure?" Because he's starting to panic now. Who the fuck gets mumps anymore? And God his head hurts, but this can't be good, it really can't be good... And they have the supercups coming up and it's not fair! 

This is his year--their year, Barcelona's year, the sextuple--and he deserves to be there!

But the doctor just nods sadly and starts telling him what he can expect, mostly symptoms he's already experiencing like the fatigue, fever, muscle aches, and loss of appetite, but also painful swelling in his face and neck, and perhaps other places as well. Neymar only listens with one ear, trying to understand, trying to figure out how this happened.

Was it from being home in Brazil? Around his friends? From traveling so much?

"And you should start notifying anyone you've had contact with in the past two weeks," the doctor finishes, shaking Neymar out of his reverie. "It's passed on through coughing, sneezing, sharing drinks, etc... Especially personal contact."

And then Neymar sits straight up.

Because fuck, he touches people all the time. He sits there numbly, watching as Dani finally stops laughing and sits up. Because this could be bad. This could be really bad. The whole team could have it. "Dani, Dani," he says urgently. "You just touched me! Go wash your hands! Wait, fuck, go back and tell everyone to shower right now!" 

Dani stands up and exchanges a look with the doctor. "Is he still contagious?"

The doctor looks serious. "Yes, and he'll be continue to be contagious until about five days after the swelling starts..." He looks at Neymar and then back at Dani. "It doesn't mean you'll get the virus. Most people who have been vaccinated are unlikely to get it. Of course, Neymar here proved to be the exception... But we're going to have to start testing you all immediately." He turns away and starts rapidly talking to his assistant, making the arrangements to get more rooms set up.

Neymar wants to cry. 

He might.

He might cry right here.

His head is still killing him, and he shuts his eyes miserably. "Dani," he says, as the pounding continues. "Oh god, what if I gave Leo the mumps? He'll never forgive me!" He doesn't even want to think about it, but he can't help it. 

Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo, Leo! 

What if he gave Leo the mumps?! What if he screwed up the season for him? The most important thing in Leo's life is football. He'll never forgive Neymar for this. 

Never.

Dani puts a hand on Neymar's knee. Neymar shakes him off. "Don't touch me! You'll get it too. Oh god." He all of a sudden feels like he's going to throw up. He's going to cry and then throw up. "How could this happen?"

Dani catches his hand. "If I have it, I have it," he says simply. "And you've touched all of us, Neymar. It's unlikely that just Leo caught it." He tilts his head to the side. "It's not like you were... Wait--," he starts, breaking off as his mouth drops open. "Neymar," he says quietly, "what did you mean when you said it was complicated?"

Neymar tugs his hand away and covers his face.

"You're not... With Leo?" Dani asks, leaning in closely. He phrases it as a question, but Neymar knows without looking that Dani's figured it all out. "Jesus. With Leo... And...?" Dani doesn't come right out and say it, but he makes an incredulous sound. "Are you kidding me?"

And any other time, Neymar would probably give in, tell Dani everything, tell him about how it happened, how great it was, how much he loved Leo--but how everything changed... He'd spill his soul, so torn up about Leo and Cristiano that he... 

Fuck. 

Cristiano. 

Neymar has to call him. 

Shit, what if he messed up Cristiano's season, too? Cristiano doesn't have the supercups, but the beginning of the league games...

"Dani, please," Neymar says, not even knowing what he's asking for, just needing Dani to be on his side again. "Oh god," he says, as the pain in his head intensifies. He covers his face more, trying to block out the light, trying to block out the sounds, trying to block out anything and everything. 

He doesn't even move when Dani's hands start to card through his hair. "It's okay, Ney," Dani says quietly.

And Neymar knows it's not, he knows he's fucked, maybe they're all fucked, but he grits his teeth and stays quiet.

There's a buzz then around him, as Dani says something to the doctor, but Neymar can't listen anymore. "I want to go home, Dani. Please, can you get Leo for me?" He wants Leo, wants to curl up with Leo in bed. Leo won't really have the mumps, everything will be fine, and Leo will cuddle with him and realize that--

"Oh, kid," Dani says, interrupting Neymar's thoughts. "I'm sorry, but Leo has to get tested with the rest of us." He hesitates before saying the next part, as if knowing Neymar won't want to hear it, and Neymar takes his hands away from his eyes to look at him. "And then, if he's okay, well, he has to stay away from you until you're not contagious anymore." 

He looks at Neymar in a way that Neymar doesn't really understand.

"But Leo," Neymar says dumbly, shutting his eyes. "Oh god!" He starts breathing very quickly, the room spinning around him. He doesn't even protest when the doctor gives him a sedative. And then there's more commotion all around him, as a few other trainers stream through the room into the next one. Neymar hears his name being mentioned over and over, along with Dani's and Leo's and Luis'... 

Everyone is all aflutter at the thought of the whole team being sick.

And it's Neymar's fault. It's all his fault.

He's so distraught that it takes him a minute to realize the noise has died down.

"Dani," Neymar whispers, keeping his eyes shut. Because if he keeps them shut then maybe this is all a dream, no, a nightmare, and when he wakes up everything will be back to normal... "Dani," he whispers again, pained when there's no immediate response. He doesn't want to open his eyes and see that Dani's left him too. His chest starts to get tight.

But Dani hasn't left him.

"What, kid?" Dani asks quietly, his hand brushing Neymar's hair off the back of his neck.

Neymar takes a deep breath. "I--I need to call somebody. Can you give me your phone?" He left his in the locker room. It was stupid. He needs it now, needs it right this second.

He has to do this. 

He has to. 

It's his fault. 

He has to call him.

Dani continues to pet his hair. "Sure, Ney," he says softly. "But I can call for you. Who do you need to talk to?" His voice is soothing, somehow not hurting Neymar's head.

Neymar opens his eyes. "No," he says glumly. "I have to do it." He fuzzily thinks that Dani asked him a question, but Neymar can't remember what it is. He just knows he has to do this.

Dani shakes his head, but places his phone in Neymar's hand. When Neymar stares at it, Dani sighs. "Neymar," he says, touching Neymar's cheek. "Do you know the number?"

Neymar blinks. He does know the number. He's ashamed that he knows it by heart   
actually. He doesn't know why he memorized it. He's memorized very few numbers in his phone... But this is one of them. He reaches out, squinting as the bright light starts to hurt his head again, and dials slowly. "I know it," he murmurs, more to himself than to Dani as he pushes the numbers. "I know it."

Dani watches him, and when Neymar's finished, he reaches out and pushes the call button, especially since it looks like Neymar has zoned out again. But Neymar takes a shuddering breath and immediately puts the phone to his ear. It rings once before it's picked up.

"Yeah?" Cristiano asks on the other end. "Who is this?" And Neymar wonders why Cristiano doesn't already know. Had he erased Neymar's number already? Why would he do that? Why would he erase it without even breaking up with Neymar first?

Neymar blinks back tears.

But then he realizes he's calling from Dani's phone. And Cristiano probably doesn't have Dani's number. 

Neymar clears his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's me." Then he's worried Cristiano won't know his voice. "Neymar." Then he thinks that was a stupid thing to say, of course Cristiano would know what he sounds like. "I--I borrowed Dani's phone."

The suspicion drops from Cristiano's voice. "Oh, hello there," he says, sounding confused. "What's up? I only have a minute." There's some background noise like he's with a group of people. "Is it important? Can I call you back later? Or is it about Leo? Is he okay?" 

Neymar swallows. He has to tell him. Has to say that he screwed up. "You--you have to go to the doctor," he chokes out. "I might have gotten you sick." Might have fucked you over, he wants to say. Might have given you another reason to take Leo away from me, he wants to say. 

And Leo... 

Neymar needs to tell Cristiano that. "I might have gotten Leo sick too," he confesses, stomach twisting cruelly, knowing his one job was to take care of Leo and he couldn't even manage that. And if he can't take care of Leo, then what's the point of him even being in this relationship? 

This is surely the moment.

Cristiano will tell him things are finished.

Neymar starts seeing gold spots appear in front of his eyes. There's a ringing in his ears that drowns out Cristiano's voice as the fear floods through his veins, and he can't breathe as Dani takes the phone from him. He doesn't want to hear Cristiano blaming him. He doesn't want to hear the yelling and the cursing about how Cristiano could end up missing the beginning of the season. And he doesn't want to hear that they're done.

Neymar knows it's his fault, but he doesn't want to hear it.

He shuts his eyes again and curls up on his side on the examination table. The paper crinkles beneath him loudly and Neymar can't hold back another groan. He hurts everywhere. And he's very tired. 

Why is he so tired? Oh, he took a sedative.

Faintly he hears Dani talking quickly behind him. The conversation seems to go on and on, but Dani never raises his voice enough for it to filter through the pounding in Neymar's head. Then it's quiet again. "What did he say?" Neymar asks, desperately afraid of the answer. "Was he mad?" He starts to clench his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his skin.

Cristiano had to be mad. 

Dani settles a blanket over his shivering form. Neymar forces himself to unclench his fists and fumbles his fingers into it, not even realizing he'd been trembling. "He said he'd see the doctor immediately," Dani mutters. He trails a hand over Neymar's back. "He wasn't... pleased... but, he said he'd call you back later." 

And Neymar knows there's more Dani doesn't say.

"Dani," Neymar breathes pulling the blanket up to his nose, "are you sure they won't let me go home with Leo?" He thinks back to how short he was with Leo in the locker room. His heart hurts remembering the way Leo had backed away from him. That's not how he wants to leave things with Leo. He opens his eyes and turns to look at Dani, squinting. "Please, Dani, can you ask for me?" 

It turns out Dani doesn't have to go and ask though, because suddenly Leo is in the doorway. He's fully dressed and ready to go, wet hair combed back and keys in his hand.

Neymar is so happy to see him that it takes a few seconds to understand why Leo isn't coming in. And Neymar cringes, remembering that Leo doesn't know yet. He doesn't know what Neymar's done to him. Neymar can only hold his breath and watch as the doctor talks to Leo. Whatever he says takes awhile, and Neymar watches as Leo crosses his arms and frowns, clearly upset. The doctor starts gesturing down the hallway toward another examination room, and Neymar's heart sinks realizing that they're sending Leo off to be tested.

But then Leo turns and pushes his way into the room, shaking off first the doctor's arm and then the assistant's when they try to stop him. He glares and says something angrily, ignoring whatever they say in response. Inside, he looks between Dani and Neymar and then he walks across the room to sink to his knees beside Neymar's head. He narrows his eyes, staring at Neymar thoughtfully. He doesn't look happy.

Neymar looks up at him pitifully, waiting for Leo to shout at him. Instead Leo reaches his hand out. "No," Neymar says, squirming away. He groans immediately as his head twinges. "Don't touch me," he says, squeezing his eyes shut. "You'll get sick, Leo, please, I'm so sorry, you might have it, it's my fault--" he says, gritting his teeth and ducking his head into the blanket.

"Ney," Leo says softly. "It's okay." He smooths a hand through Neymar's hair softly. "I promise it's okay." Neymar can only whimper in response, and Leo pulls down the blanket slightly so he can see his face. "These things happen," Leo continues, gently stroking a thumb across Neymar's cheek, seemingly uncaring that Neymar's sweating profusely. "It's not your fault you got sick."

Neymar opens his eyes in time to see Leo flick his eyes over at Dani for a moment. 

Dani, who's still standing there silently, like a sentinel at the foot of the bed.

But then Leo's leaning in and Neymar doesn't have time to process it until Leo's lips are pressed up against his. Neymar holds back a sob, letting go of the blanket to curl his hand around Leo's neck. "I--I--," Neymar mumbles against Leo's lips, trying so hard to say he's sorry for everything, but losing himself in the kiss. 

Because everything hurts--his skin, his head, his body... knowing that he's going to miss the supercups--but somehow when he kisses Leo, the pain all disappears. And when Leo breaks the kiss, Neymar still can't speak, frozen as Leo nuzzles his cheek.

"It's okay," Leo whispers. 

And Neymar can only blink at him in shock. He pulls Leo closer, hiding his face in Leo's throat. He smells so good, so wonderful. Neymar never wants to let him go. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles, feeling Leo's hands cradle his head. "Please, Leo, I'm so sorry." He can hear Leo saying something, but he can't stop talking. "Please don't be sick, Leo, please, I'm so sorry." He's sorry for everything--for snapping and pushing him away, for ruining things...

There some sort of commotion then outside the room, doctors yelling Leo's name, and Leo pulls back. "I'm in trouble," Leo says, smiling at him, guiding his head back down onto the table. "You just need to rest, okay? Just rest, and don't worry about anything else except that." He pets Neymar's hair and then pulls the blanket back up over Neymar's arm.

When he looks like he's about to leave, Neymar blurts out, "I called him." At Leo's blank look, Neymar lowers his voice. "Cristiano," he says glumly. "I called him to tell him."

Leo's face softens at the mention of Cristiano's name, like it always does. "Oh?"

Neymar shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see. "I think he was mad," he whispers. "I gave the phone to Dani." He bits his lip, feeling his chest tighten again as he remembers. "I don't know what he said." His stomach twists again. His head is still pounding, though not so bad as before. 

He's still tired though. 

So very tired. 

And he's fuzzy again.

There's silence then, as Leo processes that. "Okay," Leo says, leaning in and dropping a kiss on Neymar's forehead. "Don't worry about that now." And Neymar smiles, because Leo's so nice to him, so good to him, so loving. Neymar wishes he could tell Leo all that, but instead he just sighs, enjoying the feeling of somebody touching him for the first time today. 

Neymar was upset about something earlier. 

But now he doesn't remember. 

Everything's fine now. 

And he's all tingly... 

And Leo's with him... 

It's so nice...

And then Leo's touch is gone, but the last thing Neymar thinks before he falls asleep, is that he can still feel Leo's lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about extending this, since Neymar's mumps don't go away overnight lol, but I thought this was a good place to break. And hey, there's some cuddles at the end there, so that's good right? Please let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

When Neymar wakes up, he's disoriented. 

He doesn't know anything about where he is or how he got here. But he knows he's hot. He's sweating actually, and he can feel his damp clothing clinging to him disgustingly. He pushes the blanket off his body, eagerly feeling the cool air brush over him. 

It's a relief. 

He blinks slowly, reaching up to rub the sand out of his eyes and then groans because everything *aches*. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather himself, and when he looks up at the ceiling, he realizes he's home in bed. And actually, everything aches except his head, which is unbelievable better than the last time he was awake.

He sits up, holding back another groan, tilting his head to the side to see if his headache is truly gone. And blissfully, it is. It almost distracts him from the fact that his FUCKING skin hurts. His *skin*.

He doesn't remember how he got home.

But...

He remembers Leo kissing him...

Even though he was--he was sick. Shit. 

The mumps.

He reaches for his phone on his bedside table. He has a 207 little notifications. Texts from all of his friends, his parents, his teammates. Missed calls. Voicemails. Emails. He scrolls through the texts quickly, not really reading the majority, wondering how the news traveled so fast.

He finds Dani's name first.

**Dani**: nobody else is sick, we're off to Georgia bro  
**Dani**: don't cry anymore, it's all good I promise, bback soon w the trophy  
**Dani**: then we're having a talk 

Neymar breathes a sigh of relief. Nobody else is sick. Thank god thank god thank god. Then he winces. Not just at the fact that he's going to miss the game. Because actually, shit that really sucks... But also because Dani's going to be a huge pain in the ass about this.

Also... Fuck.

Neymar rubs his forehead and then regrets it when it hurts. He closes his eyes wishing he could go back a day and decide not to go to training. Because if he hadn't gone, he could have had his fever-driven meltdown in the safety of his own home instead of in front of Dani.

Did he cry? He might have. He can't remember. How embarrassing. 

Neymar opens his eyes and sighs. He clings to his phone, skimming through other texts until he gets to Leo's name. His finger hovers over the little dot, only a little afraid of what Leo's said. He finally mans up and taps it. And then he smiles, not knowing why he was worried.

**D10S:** I miss you

That's it. He laughs out loud, reading it again. Short and to the point. Leo's not one for fancy words, Neymar knows that. It's hard enough getting Leo to truly talk about his feelings in person. So it's not like Neymar expected much from a text. But he seems to have known exactly what to say. There are a few missed called from Leo too. No voicemails.

And... 

There's a missed call from Cristiano. 

One. Just one. 

And he didn't leave a voicemail either.

Neymar feels his heart speed. He remembers calling Cristiano from Dani's phone. He doesn't remember what Cristiano said in response though... He has a feeling that it wasn't good. His stomach starts to churn and Neymar focuses on breathing until it stops. He doesn't feel like dealing with Cristiano right now. He's going to put him out of his mind.

He is.

He lounges around for the rest of the day. His doctors stop by, giving him more painkillers and instructing him to rest as much as possible. And Neymar doesn't have a problem with that, especially since his exhaustion seems to increase as time goes on. So does his sweating, but apparently that's a good thing because it means he's fighting his fever. They give him more fluids, stressing the importance of staying hydrated, and start suggesting foods that he can stomach--mostly soup and yogurt. They go through the list of symptoms again, pointing out he started to swell.

Neymar half listens and then frowns after they leave. He can see his fingers are puffy, and when he gently touches his face, he can feel that it's different.

He doesn't look in a mirror that first day. He doesn't want to see what he looks like.

He learns that, actually, the only other people who are sick are his friends. They're quarantined to their rooms so Neymar doesn't see them in person, but they text throughout the day and determine that it must have been somebody in Brazil who did this to them.

That fucker...

Neymar's too annoyed to try to figure out who it was. And he's too annoyed to answer all his messages. He texts Leo back, hoping for an immediate response, but when there isn't one, Neymar gives up. He sleeps instead, focuses on relaxing every inch of his body and sinking into his mattress. It's hard, at first, with his actual skin aching. He can't even pull a sheet over himself. The light fabric is too harsh. 

But somehow he drifts off, waking up a few hours later when his pain medication wears off. 

It's agonizing, with every inch of him burning like he's never felt before. His fingers are thick and clumsy as as he tips out two new pills into his palm. He swallows them down, chasing them with a whole bottle of water. The fluid feels cool, his mouth irritatingly dry from sleep. 

It doesn't keep a groan from slipping out, as he waits for the medication to kick in. The only thing he can do is sit and take deep breaths over and over. Eventually the burning turns into a dull ache. His body still feels strange, but he clears throat and reaches for his phone. There's a new missed call from Leo, and Neymar smiles, deciding to call him back, even though he's not sure what time it is in Georgia.

But before he can, his phone starts ringing. And Neymar's heart skips a beat as he hears the song and looks down at the name staring back at him.

Because it's Cristiano.

Later, Neymar won't be proud of what he's done.

But in the moment, he panics. 

He throws the phone across the room. 

He's fortunate that it hits an armchair and thuds harmlessly into a cushion instead of smacking into the wall and shattering into a million pieces. It doesn't stop the ringing, though, or rather Kevin Roldan continues to sing "Contigo." Neymar puts his head in his hands as he listens to it, wincing.

Tears start pricking his eyes.

He remembers when he chose that song... remembers the way Leo hadn't understood at first--why Neymar had picked something by Kevin Roldan, and how Cristiano had laughed and laughed, smiling into Leo's neck and promising he'd get even... 

Neymar swallows hard as the song cuts off and silence fills the room once more. 

He turns onto his side, facing away the rest of his room. Then he lets himself fall back asleep.

**********  
The next day is more of the same. 

He's still aching.

Still swollen.

Still not answering the phone when Cristiano calls. Because Cristiano does call again. 

And again. 

And again.

Neymar gets out of bed to retrieve his phone when the first call comes in, fully intending to pick up and deal with this once and for all. But then, standing there, looking down at Cristiano's face, Neymar can't do it. His vision blurs. He can't make himself answer it. He stands there, listening as the ringtone finally stops. 

The sudden silence is disconcerting.

He wanders downstairs and turns on the tv, sighing as he sits down onto the couch. The game against Sevilla is on momentarily, and he knows it's going to be torture to watch. 

He should be there.

HE SHOULD BE THERE!

And so he watches, with his heart in his throat, as the game starts, knowing that they have to win--they need to win--and that it's going to be tough. Sevilla is good, they know that, know that they're a tough team... And what a game it is, too. He almost bites through his lip when Banega scores so early, but then Leo ties it up with a BRILLIANT free kick. And then they take the lead after another amazing free kick... God, Neymar could kiss Leo! But then after Rafa and Luis, it's goal after goal after goal after goal for Sevilla. 

Neymar feels like he screams his lungs out, begging his team to do something, begging Leo to win it for them.

When Pedro scores the final goal in the 115th minute, Neymar collapses back against the couch, sweating through his shirt, unable to move. He's not even happy, he's just numb, exhausted--as if he's the one who played into extra time. He should feel overjoyed. Should be delighted for his teammates, knowing that the victory was something they've been working hard for all year.

The truth is, he's feeling very sorry for himself. 

He should be there.

Then he accidentally catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to the tv. He looks like a balloon. Like he gained twenty pounds over night. His cheeks are puffy and he touches them tentatively with his thick fingers, almost unable to believe his eyes.

It's even more depressing.

He never really thought he was amazingly attractive before, but seeing himself now, he's disgusted. He slides his hands down his neck, fingering his throat, trying to understand how he could swell so much. There's a goiter bulging out under his chin. And it fucking *hurts* when his fingers graze the swollen skin.

He turns off the tv, chugs two bottles of water, and goes upstairs so he can get back in bed. His stomach growls a little, but when Neymar looks down and sees that little pudge where his trim waist used to be, he can't get out of bed and wander back down to the kitchen. And he knows that's not the right response, knows that denying himself food isn't going to make his stomach go back the way it's supposed to be... But he still doesn't move.

He thinks about calling his sister... Dani... Leo... But he doesn't hear what his sister will say. And both Dani and Leo are probably so happy. Neymar doesn't want to be responsible for bringing them down right after the game. Dani is probably wasted, and anything Neymar has to say would make him pissy for sure.

And Leo, oh Leo... 

Leo probably wouldn't mind. His adrenaline might still be running, and he'd probably be flushed and excited that Neymar had called, wanting to talk about the goals. Or maybe he'd be soft and sleepy, the way he always is, crashing quite soon after the big games. And with Leo's ability to go straight to sleep, it probably wouldn't be a big deal if they talked for just a few minutes... 

Except what if Leo's able to tell that Neymar's upset? What if it slips out that Neymar's actually *angry* that Leo got to play, and he couldn't? 

Fuck. Neymar shakes his head. That'd be such a shitty thing to let out.

Neymar can't risk it.

He stares at his phone. He has so many friends. And yet, he doesn't want to talk to any of them. Sighing, he tucks his phone beneath his pillow and listlessly stares up at the ceiling.

He doesn't remember falling asleep.

**********  
He feels like the days start to blend together. 

The third day, he's proud that he gets out of bed. Except, he's still disgusting, still flabby... And it's even worse now. From his face to his fingers to his ankles... 

And his fucking balls, too! 

His BALLS!

He does a double take when he's in the bathroom, sure he's not seeing things right. But even if he hadn't seen them, he'd have known something was wrong, because it hurts. 

So. Much.

His doctor struggles to remain professional when Neymar calls and complains about it, calmly recommending ice packs as a response to Neymar's frantic hysteria. But apparently he'd mentioned it as a likely symptom to Neymar before? That day they'd diagnosed him in the training room? And then again at Neymar's house?

Neymar thinks he would have remembered something fucking awful like that...

Yet here he is, sticking a bag of frozen peas down his sweatpants and into his underwear, and waddling slowly to the couch where he intends to collapse and never move again. And he stays there, marathoning Brooklyn Nine-Nine until he can't keep his eyes open any longer. He's so exhausted that he doesn't even go back up to his bed that night. And his phone is too far away for him to reach, so he doesn't try.

He just sleeps on the couch.

**********  
The next day is more of the same.

He wakes up, eats his bland food, takes his pain medication, and then sulks and sleeps. 

Correction, he ices his balls and sulks and sleeps.

He decides his swollen balls are by far the worst part about having the mumps. Sure the exhaustion is ridiculous... (He barely makes it through an entire episode of this stupid show about Jake's shenanigans before he's dozing off.) and the slightest touch of his skin aches... (He's wearing the lightest tank top he owns.) and his fingers are the fattest things he's ever seen in his life... (He's given up texting for the time being.)

But there are some things that no man should ever have to experience, and this is one of them. (He doesn't even wake up with a morning erection--it's like his body decided to devote all its energy to making his balls swell up. Probably a good thing his sex drive has temporarily disappeared too, because he can't imagine what it would actually feel like to try to jerk off like this...)

Later that day, in a moment of insanity, he manages to post a picture of his face on Instagram. His fingers are so clumsy that he almost can't do it, but he perseveres. Somehow his fevered brain thinks it's a good idea to share how terrible he looks.

The action immediately tires him and he falls asleep before he can read any of the responses.

**********  
He feels a tiny bit better the next day. 

He thinks, maybe, perhaps, his fingers are slightly less swollen. If he squints.

It puts him in a better mood.

Nobody's been allowed to come to see him since he's still contagious or something (not that they've really had time anyway), so he has to be satisfied with his phone. Though there seems to be some unanimous decision not to tease him about his breakdown, (which Neymar really, really appreciates) because nobody mentions it at all. 

And they call him right before the game against Athletic Bilbao.

Dani is all bubbling happiness, talking about how this is their year and they're going to win it all and he has the perfect tattoo planned when they do. 

Rafa fills him in on everything that happened in training, talking about how Masche almost killed Luis during the rondo, and then he whispers how they've decided to try to nutmeg Marc Barta at every opportunity. 

When the phone moves on, Marc Bartra complains about how everyone except Jordi has turned against him.

As soon the phone reaches Jordi, Jordi reveals he's only biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to get Marc.

It sounds like madness, as usual, and Neymar can't stop smiling as he talks to them all. He's still so tired that the conversation is a struggle, but, it makes him so happy. And even if it's only for a few seconds, as the phone jumps from Andrés, to Busi, to Munír, Neymar manages to forget that he's not there with them. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he's sitting on the bench in the lockeroom. 

And even Geri wants to talk to him!

Neymar doesn't remember a lot from that day when he first got sick, but he remembers the look in Geri's eyes, and he worries that Geri is still angry.

But Geri never mentions the incident, instead babbling on about everything and nothing at the same time, talking about his next huge party and how it'll have to wait until Neymar is better. "And I hope that's soon," Geri says, laughing, "because Leo has been moping like you wouldn't believe. He really misses you." 

Neymar feels a warm glow curl through his chest, especially when he hears Leo's laugh in the background. He's been playing phone tag with Leo, somehow being asleep every time Leo calls him back. And he misses his voice... "You'll watch out for him?" Neymar asks, knowing it's a dumb question as soon as he says it. But it's hard for Neymar to not be there--to not be able to put himself between Leo and defenders when things start to get out of hand.

Geri scoffs. But he's kind when he replies. "Of course." 

"That's good," Neymar says thickly, stretching out on the couch. There's a pillow on the floor that he really wishes was within his reach, but he aches too much to move and get it. "Good, good, good," he mumbles, looking at it longingly. The action twists his neck and he immediately regrets the movement. He wants to ask to talk to Leo, but doesn't want to give Geri an opportunity to yell at him about that day at training.

So Geri yammers on in his ear and Neymar starts zoning out. He holds a hand up in front of his face and studies his fingers, before sighing and dropping his hand. He adjusts the frozen peas in his pants and flicks on the tv, muting it while he flips around and looks for the channel that'll be broadcasting the game. He's so distracted that he doesn't even realize Geri's passed the phone onto Leo at first.

"Ney? Ney?!" Leo says, his soft voice getting louder. "Shit, Geri did you hang up on him?" He starts cursing quietly. "I can't believe..."

Neymar chokes on his spit and sits up. "Leo!" He winces at the sudden motion, pressing a hand between his legs. "Fuck," he mutters. "Leo, I'm here." He bites back a moan. "Leo."

"Oh good," Leo says happily, lowering his voice. "Dani somehow intervened every time I tried to take the phone, that ass." He sounds fond as opposed to angry, and Neymar finds himself smiling in response. "I--Geri was right, though. I miss you," he admits. "I'm so glad I finally got you!"

"I miss you, too," Neymar says instantly, clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath and curls in on himself a little as his body throbs. "I'm sorry I didn't catch you... I wish I was there so much. I should be there, should be with the team... I miss Dani and everybody, I miss playing, I miss winning..." He rests his cheek on the back of the couch. "I'm--it's--it's hard not being there."

It's the closest he's come to blurting out how fucking miserable he actually is.

"And, I do, really miss you," Neymar continues, closing his eyes and imagining Leo's face. His eyes, his smile, his lips, his kiss... "I'm so lonely without you. I don't like this. I don't like when you're so far away." 

Leo's laugh is hushed, sympathetic. "It won't be much longer now," he says, voice muffled as if he's trying to keep from being overheard. "And then you'll be back at training. And... we'll be back together again." And just when Neymar's starting to feel better again, Leo finishes, "all three of us."

Neymar doesn't know what to say to that. It turns out he doesn't have to, though, because Dani pulls the phone away from Leo. "Sorry, bro," he says. "Stop it, Leo! Lucho's coming!" he says, as Leo protests in the background. "Ney, we gotta go! We'll win it for you, watch and see!" 

And Neymar doesn't have a chance to really say anything else before the call cuts off. He groans in frustration, reaching up to rub his forehead and freezing when he remembers he shouldn't touch his head. Sighing, he stretches back out on the couch and turns to the tv, lightly dozing until it's time for the game to start. 

And then he watches in disbelief as Athetic Bilbao massacres them.

4-0.

After each goal, Neymar isn't sure it's really true, isn't sure this is really happening... And each time, he shakes his head, desperately wishing it was a hallucination. Because he can't believe it. Can't believe they've just fallen apart so completely. 

When it ends, he turns off the tv. He doesn't want to see the celebrations, or the highlights... He finds himself fingering his phone. It seems so long ago that he was hearing Leo's voice, hearing Dani's excitement, hearing Geri promise even *he* would score a goal for Neymar... And now everything's ruined. 

Fuck, their season, their perfect season... Their sextuple... It's ruined.

Neymar closes his eyes.

He should be there.

He--he should call Leo.

Neymar opens his eyes and frantically dials Leo's number. Because he should be there. He should be by Leo's side, should be there when Leo blames himself and won't talk to anyone else... That's his job. That's where he supposed to be: taking care of Leo.

But the phone just rings and rings and rings.

Still, Neymar redials, calling again and again. He tells himself it's too soon after the game, that Leo isn't even in the lockeroom yet. Then he tells himself that Leo's in the shower. Then he tells himself that Leo's doing interviews. He gets Leo's voicemail and ends the call and tries again. Still nothing. He loses count of how many times he calls. But he tries over and over, until his eyes start to droop. 

And only then, does he let the phone fall from his hand.

**********

The next day, when he opens his eyes, it's to the faint ringing of his phone. As he gropes around the sheets and fails to find it, he blearily realizes it's because he left it downstairs.

Because they lost.

They lost badly.

And he didn't want to talk to anybody. Especially after not getting ahold of Leo.

Sighing, he sits up. His body screams at him to take his pain medication and he grudgingly walks to his mini fridge to grab a bottle of water so he can take the pills. And then carefully, very carefully, he sticks a new bag of frozen vegetables into his briefs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he moans at the initial freezing touch, before the instant numbing relief starts to kick in. 

He almost collapses right there on the floor, wanting to curl into a ball and stay there until his fucking mumps are gone... But his phone starts up again and Neymar starts the slow trek downstairs to retrieve it. 

So he can put it on silent. 

Because he sure as hell has no desire to hear what Cristiano has to say about Barcelona losing 4-0. 

And then, after that, Neymar will try to call Leo again.

It takes awhile for Neymar to make it down the stairs. He's got one hand in his pants, holding his makeshift icepack in place, while the other grips the bannister carefully. Each step is a battle, and it's only the fact that he really *should* have his phone with him (in case of an emergency or something) that drives him on. 

It had been someone else calling before, Neymar knows. He remembers it being a different song that woke him up (it wasn't Leo, he knows that, would've run down the stairs for that), but it's definitely Cristiano's incessant ringtone that's playing now. 

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," he mumbles, waddling over to the couch. And God, he knows this is his own fault for not answering any of Cristiano's other calls over the last few days, but still... 

He isn't going to answer these calls either.

The singing continues and he decides his phone must have fallen into the cushions, because he can't see it anywhere. He leans over, intent on finding it. But somehow his knee knocks into the table, and he can only watch helplessly as a bottle of juice tumbles over the side. He flinches at the bottle shatters into a million pieces and then stares sadly at the resulting mess. 

"Fuck my life," he says, watching as the juice starts to spill across the floor and soak the expensive rug that his mother gave him the last time she visited. He holds a hand up and wonders if his sausage fingers are going to be able to pick up any of the glass out of the (once) fluffy, white fabric.

Immediately after, the doorbell rings.

Neymar raises a hand to his head in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning again. His phone continues to sing at him, and Neymar turns back to the couch, but then the doorbell rings once more. "Oh my god!" he shouts, throwing his hands up. He tries to stomp over to the door angrily, but has to dodge the rapidly growing puddle of juice and flecks of broken glass sprinkled all over the floor.

And his stomping is really a slow shuffle so as to not dislodge the bag of frozen vegetables down his briefs.

But he makes it to the door and throws it open, prepared to scream at whoever it is, hoping that his face scares them away. (Though really, anyone who made it past security probably already knows he has the mumps.)

Except, of course, because the universe *hates* him, it's Cristiano. 

Neymar's words freeze in his throat, and instead of an angry tirade, he coughs awkwardly. Of all the possible people he thought might be standing there, Cristiano was never one that came to mind. Neymar shrinks in on himself and doesn't know what to do. His heart starts to beat faster and he knows he's flushing.

This is a thousand times worse than talking to Cristiano on the phone.

He's not ready for this.

God, he's not ready for this...

"Oh good," Cristiano says coolly, looking Neymar up and down and pulling his phone away to end the call he's making. "You're not dead." He steps forward, suddenly, as if he's anticipating Neymar's actions, and puts his foot inside so Neymar can't close the door. "And apparently your phone does work."

Behind Neymar, they both hear Cristiano's ringtone cuts off mid song.

"How did you get past the gate?" Neymar asks dumbly, trying to recover, taking a step back as Cristiano comes closer. Cristiano looks like he's stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine--perfectly coiffed hair, shiny sunglasses, white button down with the cuffs rolled up, dark jeans... 

Neymar's instantly hyperaware of his own appearance, regretting the fact that he hasn't showered in days and is wearing the same dingy tank top and sweatpants that he's been sweating in all week. He casually tries to pat down his hair, embarrassed, but he knows it's a lost cause.

He's also not sure that he cares.

Actually that's a lie. 

He cares. 

He desperately cares. 

He's always wanted to please Cristiano, even if he doesn't fully understand why. 

Cristiano stares at him, expression uncharacteristically uncertain as he flicks his eyes down at Neymar's swollen neck, before returning to meet his gaze. "You put my name on the list at the gate," he says softly. "They let me right through." He shifts his weight. "I wasn't sure I would still be there, since you haven't been answering my calls for some reason."

Neymar opens his mouth and then closes it, his chest starting to tighten. He forgot that he added Cristiano's name awhile back. "You were mad at me," he eventually says, fingers squeezing the doorknob. He wants to close the door in Cristiano's face, doesn't want to have this discussion now--or ever. "The last time I called you--," he breaks off, half hiding his face behind the door.

Cristiano frowns and arches an eyebrow in confusion. "I was mad at you? No, I wasn't. What are you talking about?" He tries to push the door open more, but Neymar somehow finds the strength to keep him out. "Neymar, will you just--," Cristiano says, flattening his palm on the door. "Let me come in."

"No! You were," Neymar insists. "You yelled at me!" His memories are a little fuzzy of that day when he made the call, but he remembers Cristiano yelling, and Dani saying Cristiano wasn't happy... He yelled at him. He did! "And you can't be here! I'm contagious!"

Jesus Christ. If he ends up giving Cristiano the mumps after all this time...

Cristiano rolls his eyes. "Neymar," he says, taking his hand off the door. He rubs his forehead and sounds frustrated, "I was yelling because you told me you were sick and then you just stopped talking. I was worried about you! I could hear you breathing, but you weren't saying anything and you wouldn't answer when I called your name." He shakes his head. "And I--I talked to Leo. He said today it would be five days, so you aren't contagious anymore. You thought I was mad at you? Is that why you wouldn't answer my calls?"

Neymar blinks at him, dazed. "You talked to Leo?" He wants to ask when, if it was last night after the game--if Leo had answered Cristiano's calls, but not Neymar's... He shakes his head, trying to shake off the hurt. "But, you were mad," he repeats, trying to remember. Because he had been so sure... And Dani had said...

"Well, I'm mad now," Cristiano says bluntly. "I'm not used to chasing someone like this. That's not how it works. Do you know how many times I called you?" When Neymar doesn't answer, Cristiano laughs bitterly. "Yeah, neither do I! Enough that today I finally called Alves to make sure you hadn't changed your number." He leans in closer to Neymar. "Do you know how much I *hate* Dani Alves?" he hisses angrily. "A lot."

Neymar doesn't know what to say. "But--you?" He's still so confused, because he had been so sure Cristiano was angry with him, going to break up with him... And Cristiano hasn't even mentioned how Neymar's failed once again, hasn't yelled at Neymar for not being with Leo after yesterday's loss...

"Are you going to let me in, my pretty boy?" Cristiano asks, interrupting Neymar's thoughts. "Or are we going to have this entire discussion out on your doorstep?" He leans in, gaze intense. "Because I don't think that something you really want to do."

At that, Neymar feels tears come to his eyes. "Don't call me that," he says thickly, trying not to blink, trying to hold them back. 

He's afraid if he starts, he won't be able to stop. And he's so tired of feeling this way...

But he's not pretty. And even if he was once, he's certainly not pretty now.

"Why would you say that?" Neymar says shaking, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "I know what I look like, okay? I have a fucking mirror. And I look disgusting." He turns his head, a ball forming in his throat, and he swallows hard, trying to make it go away. "Why--why would you say that?! Just, go away!" 

He weakly tries to kick Cristiano's foot out of the door, his bare foot moving uselessly against Cristiano's shiny shoe. 

Cristiano doesn't move. "Neymar," he says gently, reaching out towards Neymar's face. "You're still *you*." When Neymar yanks his head out of reach, Cristiano drops his hand to his side. "Fine then. Do you remember the first time we were together? Here, in fact. Just upstairs. Leo was on the bed, *your bed*, waiting for you? And he was gorgeous, wasn't he? Everything you ever wanted."

Neymar's eyes blur with tears and when he blinks, they spill down his cheeks. He nods. It was when everything was still new, when he couldn't believe his luck, when his dreams were coming true.

It seems so long ago.

"My Leo," Cristiano says, sighing. "Gorgeous and kind and smart... He's so smart, sometimes, that it's annoying, isn't it? He's always right, isn't he?" Cristiano continues, looking knowingly at Neymar. 

Neymar nods again, sniffling, groggily wondering why Cristiano is saying these things. 

Leo's not the problem, Leo's never been the problem...

"So there he was, on the bed, when I said you were pretty. And you were flustered, weren't you? You didn't like me saying it then, either, at first, did you? But do you remember what Leo said?" Cristiano asks, voice quiet, soothing. "He agreed with me, didn't he? And he said it was your eyes. He loved your eyes. Your beautiful eyes..."

Neymar sags against the door, remembering the way Leo had looked at him, the way Leo had spoken... the way he had welcomed Neymar's touch. The way he had flushed when Neymar had kissed him... And Cristiano had been there, watching both of them.

"So you see," Cristiano goes on, "even with the way this--this disease--has temporarily changed your body, changed you in ways you don't like, made you look different--it hasn't changed your eyes." He reaches out to touch Neymar's face again, his hand slow and cautious as it moves. 

Neymar's lashes flutter, wanting to tell him no, wanting him to stop, knowing it will hurt, but he's so starved for human contact, so used to people touching him and hugging him...

"They're still the same. And you're still my pretty boy," Cristiano says, lightly smoothing his thumb across the tear tracks on Neymar's cheek. 

And the touch should sting. 

Every touch of his skin has hurt since that first day. Leo's hug, Dani's arm, the sheets on his bed...

But at that moment, Neymar feels only the loosening of his chest, and he sways forward.

"I think you should let me in now, Neymar," Cristiano says quietly, dropping his hand. "Because I think you and I have some things we need to talk about." 

And Neymar steps back to let him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... It's been awhile! I apologize, but I had to take a break for the holidays. I'm back to writing pretty consistently now, though, so I don't think it will take nearly as long before I have the next chapter ready.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think! Xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

Neymar's in a bit of a daze as Cristiano pushes by him.

"Alright," Cristiano says, gently herding him backwards so that the door can close, "let's get a few things straightened out." He turns to Neymar as if he's ready to tear into him right then and there, but pauses as he sees Neymar's expression. "Maybe... Should you sit?"

Neymar blearily raises a hand and wipes away his lingering tears. "Okay," he mumbles, feeling unsettled. He slowly leads the way back over to the couch, stopping when his foot steps in something wet. He looks down. The juice. "Oh yeah," he says, having forgotten all about it in his rush to get to the door. 

He starts to squat down, but Cristiano catches his shoulders.

"Neymar, what--what are you thinking?" Cristiano pulls him up. "Are you going to mop it up with your bare hands?" While Neymar's trying to figure out how to explain that, why yes, strangely that's exactly what it was he had been thinking, Cristiano shakes his head. "Okay, just... Just sit for a minute." He steers Neymar around the other way and settles him on the couch and then disappears into the kitchen.

Neymar shifts uncomfortably for a minute before he realizes he's sitting on his phone. Of course he couldn't find it when it was ringing, but he has no problems finding it now... He reaches beneath himself and pulls it out.

Cristiano reappears, holding a roll of paper towels, a sponge, and a trash bag. "How did this happen?" he asks, kneeling down and beginning to mop up the mess. He shakes his head over the saturated rug and murmurs something under his breath as he starts to transfer soaked paper towels to the bag.

Neymar rests his head against one of the cushions. "A few minutes ago," he says listlessly. "I banged my knee on the table." He watches as Cristiano starts to pick out large pieces of glass to throw away. "You--you don't have to do that." 

The rug isn't that important. He probably would have just chucked the whole thing and gotten a new one.

He should be protesting more, should be treating Cristiano like a guest, but exhaustion is setting in again and he can barely lift his head.

Cristiano will do what he wants, anyway.

Cristiano eyes him from the floor. "I think I do," he says, not sounding bothered. "And while I do," he continues, "you can tell me why you thought I was mad at you." He doesn't look away from Neymar as he drops a few shards of glass into the bag and they clink together delicately. "Why you wouldn't answer my calls."

Neymar swallows, struggling to breathe, wanting to hide from his gaze.

"Because I don't understand. And when I asked Leo about it, he didn't understand either. He was surprised you and I hadn't been speaking while he was away," Cristiano says, tossing another dirty paper towel into the trash. "If you really thought I was angry, why didn't you talk to Leo about it?"

Neymar's fingers tighten on his phone, remembering the night before. "You asked Leo?" he says, breathily. He feels hurt again, hurt that Leo would answer Cristiano's calls and not Neymar's. "But he--?" 

He doesn't know why Leo would do that...

Cristiano pauses in his cleanup, studying Neymar curiously. "Of course I asked Leo. I talk to him nearly everyday. You think that you don't come up in conversation?" He sits back on his heels, unmoving, until all of a sudden he tilts his head. "Ah," he says perceptively. "You think I talked to him recently. After the game." He shakes his head. "I bet you tried to call him, too, didn't you?"

Neymar nods.

Cristiano smiles, but it's one of those smiles where he's baring all of his teeth. "I called him, of course. I knew he wouldn't answer. And I was right--he didn't. That's why I had to call Alves. But Leo--he's licking his wounds." He laughs a little. "Boohoo, Barcelona won't get six trophies this year. Gosh, I feel so sorry for all of you."

Neymar startles. "Hey--that's not fair," he says angrily, wanting to tell Cristiano off, wanting to tell him how this was their year and it was supposed to be perfect. He somehow finds the strength to sit up, and points at Cristiano threateningly. "You're just jealous--," he spits out, hand shaking.

Cristiano cuts him off before he can get going. "Whatever," he says, shrugging. "You'll get over it. Leo will, too." He rolls his eyes, but then his face softens slightly. "Look, Neymar... I get that you're upset. But this isn't like Copa América..." He sighs, remembering, but then flicks his eyes to Neymar's. "So this hurts right now, but in a month you'll have moved on. You still had an amazing year and you'll probably still win another trophy." 

When Neymar has no reply to that, Cristiano waves his hand dismissively. "In any case, I wasn't too surprised that Leo didn't answer my calls. Leo I understand, know how to handle, how to deal with. I just have to wait him out. He'll probably call tomorrow to apologize. But you... What was surprising, was *you* not answering my calls." He finally throws the paper towels down in disgust. "I don't understand you." 

Neymar's chest is tight, listening to Cristiano gain steam.

Because he barely understands himself, so how can he expect Cristiano to understand him. 

God, he wishes Leo were here. 

Everything is easier with Leo...

It's as if Neymar's silence takes the wind out of Cristiano, and instead of looking angry, he just looks tired. His voice is quiet when he speaks again. "This isn't going to work," Cristiano says, sending a shiver of fear down Neymar's spine. "You have to talk to me, Neymar. I can't do anything unless you talk to me... Tell me why you thought I was angry with you."

Neymar sighs, reaching down to adjust his frozen vegetables. "I don't know," he says, tiredly. "I mean, I can't remember exactly what I was thinking. But, I just remember that I was so afraid you were angry." He looks at Cristiano. "I know how important football is to you. I know it's the most important thing. And I was so afraid I'd gotten you sick, that I'd interfered with that..."

Cristiano returns his gaze stonily.

"Everything is kind of a blur," Neymar says, resting his head on his cushion. "I'm sorry... I thought--I thought I messed up your season. And... I didn't think you'd forgive me for that." He clears his throat, trying to put everything into words, and ends up shrugging helplessly. "I thought you didn't want me. I'm sorry. I don't know. I'm so sorry."

Cristiano doesn't reply immediately, staring at Neymar. He sighs, opening his mouth to say something and then closes it and shakes his head. He looks down at the stained rug and rolls it up the best he can. After running the sponge over the floor, he picks up the trash bag and the rug and disappears into the kitchen.

Neymar looks after him, not knowing what to do. His hands nervously clench into fists at his sides, and then he relaxes them instantly when they start to ache. 

Cristiano returns a minute later, pursing his lips in thought. He walks over and joins Neymar on the couch, sitting with some room between them. "Okay," he mutters, scratching his jaw. "I'm trying to figure out how to go about this." He takes a deep breath and then let's it out slowly. "Let me ask you this. Are you going to remember this conversation, or is your medication making you fuzzy?"

Neymar huffs. "I'll remember." He's tired, but he's not out of it. He's not going to forget Cristiano being here or anything.

"Good," Cristiano says, "because I want to get this straight. I don't want there to be any confusion. Okay?" He turns so he's facing Neymar. "First of all, I'm sorry."

Neymar frowns. "You're sorry," he repeats slowly, trying to understand. Now he wonders if maybe his meds *are* messing with him, because he has no idea why Cristiano is apologizing.

"Yes," Cristiano says. "I'm sorry. Because you seem to be under the impression that football is the most important thing in the world to me. And I sorta get that, because that's the way I act with the public--it's what I want the world to think. But... That's not the true me, and I thought you knew that." He shakes his head ruefully and smiles. "How could it be, hmm?"

Neymar's still processing everything, still trying to catch up.

"Neymar," Cristiano says, his smile turning into a grin. "What's the most important thing in the world to *you*?"

Neymar opens his mouth to say football, of course it's football, but the words die on his tongue. Because that's not the truth, is it? It was once... But not anymore.

"Exactly," Cristiano says. "It's Leo, no?" He shrugs. "It's someone you love, someone you care about more than anything else. Football, your brand, your career, everything else... It all pales in comparison to him. And it's the same for me." He hesitates. "But I'm sorry, because maybe you don't know me well enough to know that. We haven't exactly talked about this. Maybe the real me is blurred with the one you see on tv."

"No," Neymar says, holding a hand to his head. Because he knows Leo is first for Cristiano, maybe he wasn't thinking straight before, but he does know that. "I mean, I get that..."

Cristiano tips his head to the side. "Okay, so imagine it was Leo who got the mumps. It was Leo who gave it to you. Would you be mad at him?"

"No," Neymar says again, automatically. "Of course not."

Cristiano nods. "Exactly. Because you would never blame someone you care about for something that he couldn't control, like that. Especially if that person was the most important thing in your life."

Neymar's head is spinning, trying to follow this conversation. "But that's Leo," he says weakly. "I would never blame Leo... *You* would never blame Leo..."

Cristiano smiles gently. "I would never blame Leo," he repeats. "But also, I would never blame you." He reaches out to touch Neymar's leg, but then pulls his hand back, remembering. "So I'm sorry if you thought I would. I'm sorry you thought I would be angry. Because I think that's my fault for not making it clear, that Leo--and now you, are very important to me." His gaze is intense, dark eyes looking earnestly at Neymar.

Neymar can't help the smile that comes to his face in response. He feels all warm inside, all light and floaty, as if he were on some weird medication... But he's just high from Cristiano's words. "You like me?" he says dumbly, unable to stop himself from sounding like an idiot. 

His silly grin probably doesn't help.

"Of course I like you, you little idiot," Cristiano says. "Haven't I made that clear?" He cocks his head, looking concerned. "Have you thought that I didn't, all this time? Jesus, Neymar... I'm so sorry." He runs his fingers though his hair. "Fuck, I don't know what to say."

Neymar bites his lip a little too hard, and then releases it. "I'm not--," he says, looking away, "I just..." He wants to explain that he didn't think that, exactly... But he thought that he was only there for Leo. 

So that Leo could be taken care of.

And if that was the only way he could have part of Leo, to take care of Leo when Cristiano wasn't there, then he was okay with that.

Cristiano looks thoughtful. "I guess the last two times that we've been together, we haven't really talked. You were pretty drunk after the celebrations--the last time I visited Barcelona... And then, ahh, when you and Leo came to me, I was stuck in bed because of my back. And we barely spoke because I was taking such strong medication..."

Cristiano scratches his fingers through his hair furiously, and then sighs.

"Neymar," Cristiano finally says softly. "I like you. I like you a lot. More than I ever expected I would, okay? We have something here. But you have to talk to me about stuff like this. You can't just... not answer the phone when I call. I can't read minds. It's bad enough getting Leo to talk about his feelings when he clams up. I can't deal with two of you like that."

Neymar feels like he's going to melt into the couch. His fingers twitch where they're clutching his phone. "You like me," he says again, closing his eyes in relief. He can hear Cristiano chuckle quietly, but Neymar doesn't mind. Everything is all of a sudden so much better. He can't believe that he thought Cristiano was going to break up with him.

"And," Cristiano says, mirth coloring his voice. "If you don't remember this tomorrow, I'm going to remind you." 

Neymar's eyelids feel heavy, but he opens them laboriously. "I'll remember," he insists, licking his lips, positive that he's going to remember this moment for a very long time. 

Cristiano flicks his eyes to Neymar's mouth. "I'd show you right now," he says, tongue wetting his own mouth, "how much I like you, that is." He raises his gaze to meet Neymar's. "Except, I think it'd be too much for you." He sits back, smirking, putting some more space between them. "But I want to. And when you're feeling better. I will."

Neymar can feel his cheeks start to flush. 

It's heady, knowing that Cristiano wants to kiss him when he looks like... this.

"You will?" he asks, clutching the phone harder. Everything between his legs is numb from his ice pack, but he thinks maybe, his dick just perked up.

"Oh, yes," Cristiano promises, eyes smoldering. "I will."

Neymar stares dumbly at him, wanting to reach out and touch that golden skin, wanting to skim his fingertips down Cristiano's jaw... He spreads his legs apart without meaning to, feeling something stirring, as he imagines Cristiano pressing him down into the couch and covering his body. Fuck, he *wants*. His pulse starts to race and he has to close his eyes again, focusing on taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"I think, I think I need to go back to bed," Neymar says weakly, ignoring the way his stomach growls in protest. It's the first time he's been hungry in awhile--a good sign--but he just wants to sleep. His eyes flutter open and he starts to shift his feet onto the floor.

Cristiano's by his side in an instant. He hovers, hands reaching down to Neymar, but not quite touching. "What can I do?" he asks, finally squatting down between Neymar's legs. "How about some soup? I can heat something up for you." When Neymar sighs, Cristiano hums. "Or, how about I draw you a bath? Hmm?" he asks, nodding to himself. "Wouldn't that feel nice?" he asks, coaxingly.

Neymar pauses indecisively. Because he probably looks and smells terrible. 

He wonders if the feeling of the water against his skin would hurt.

But the desire to be clean suddenly outweighs his concern.

"I--I could take a bath," Neymar says slowly. He comes back to himself when he realizes that Cristiano is down between his thighs. His mind fights to ignore what would be happening if he were well. Cristiano grins up at him as if he knows what Neymar is thinking. "Yes, um, okay."

"Alright then," Cristiano says. He stands up and holds a hand down to Neymar. "Shall we?" He arches first one eyebrow and then the other, wiggling them up and down until Neymar laughs.

"Can you," Neymar says, hesitating, "just, not squeeze my hand when I stand up?" When Cristiano's brow furrows, Neymar is quick to reassure him. "It's just, everything hurts right now. Like, my whole body. And so it might hurt if you touch me. My hand, I mean. And so I need to you just be careful when I stand up, so you don't grab me too hard." He realizes he's rambling so he stops talking.

Cristiano just smiles at him. He continues to hold his hand out steadily. "So you need me to touch you as if you were something delicate. Oh, I think I can do that." 

Neymar again ignores the images those words bring to mind. He places his fingers in Cristiano's hand, using the other man to stand up. 

Cristiano doesn't back away, and Neymar wavers unsteadily. "Maybe we could just stay here instead," Neymar mutters, feeling ridiculously weak. He closes his eyes and stands there just holding Cristiano's hand for support. His other hand somehow finds its way to Cristiano's chest, curling into his shirt carefully.

Cristiano smells really, really good.

That sort of wakes Neymar up. 

Because Neymar knows that he probably smells really, really bad.

Cristiano laughs. "We could," he says, "or we could go upstairs and get you in the tub." When Neymar opens his eyes, Cristiano's looking down at him. "Come on, I'll help you."

Neymar whines a little, but nods. He lets go of Cristiano and starts shuffling over to the stairs. "Maybe you can go up first? And get the water started?" he asks, thinking that he doesn't really want Cristiano to see him waddle up the stairs so gracelessly. He puts his hand on the bannister and tries to give Cristiano the puppy eyes.

He has his pride after all.

(Just kidding, at this point he really doesn't. Seriously, the bag of vegetables down his briefs is crinkling as he walks, and Cristiano probably thinks he's wearing an adult diaper or something.)

Cristiano stares at him long and hard, long enough that Neymar starts to squirm. "Alright, I can do that," Cristiano eventually agrees smoothly. He passes Neymar and starts going up the stairs (and Neymar really, really doesn't look at his ass--fuck, okay, yes he does), and calls back, "take your time and I'll get everything ready."

Neymar takes a deep breath. "Fuck my life," he says quietly, eyeing the stairs. Then he begins the long trek up, holding back a few moans as his body complains at the treatment. Halfway up, he realizes he forgot his phone back on the sofa. For one second he wavers, thinks about going back to get it, but then shakes his head. He continues to totter up the stairs slowly, hand holding his icepack securely between his legs.

Once he's upstairs, he can hear the sound of the rushing water in his bathroom. He makes his way through his bedroom, stumbling over a pile of empty water bottles (that he's been calling Mount Recycling) that he should have tossed into the bin (but didn't), and curses loudly. He kicks one, annoyed at his clumsiness, and then is even more annoyed when it doesn't go where he was aiming it.

Cristiano pops through the doorway. "Alright?" he asks, white sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching as a few of the bottles spill across the floor. His tanned forearms are damp and water is slowly dripping from his fingertips onto the rug. He takes a half step toward Neymar, concerned.

"Yes," Neymar replies sullenly. He waddles over to Cristiano and slides past him and into the bathroom. The air is thick and steamy, making him shiver in a good way as he walks past the nearly-filled tub. It's kind of ridiculous (and gross) that he hasn't bathed in so long, and the water looks awfully tempting. And thankfully it has caused the mirror to fog up, so he doesn't have to look at his disgusting flabby self. 

For a second, maybe because of his exhaustion, he forgets that he's not alone.

Out of habit, he reaches out and draws a heart onto the glass, finger gliding smoothly through the fog. 

The clean lines reveal not just his reflection, but Cristiano standing directly behind him. Neymar whirls around, embarrassed at being caught at writing on the mirror like a little kid. "I was just--just," he stammers, knowing his face is bright red, finding it hard to think in the heat as the mist swirls around them. He can't find the words, and he freezes against the counter as he braces himself for Cristiano's ridicule.

It's stupid, so stupid, such a childish habit--and his chest starts to get tight, really tight, as he waits for Cristiano to make fun of him. 

But Cristiano just smiles at him. 

A gentle smile.

"Oh, do you do that, too?" Cristiano asks, pushing closer to Neymar--almost touching him, but not quite--and then reaching past Neymar's head to the mirror. Neymar's still frozen, not quite understanding what's happening. But then he hears the squeaking of Cristiano's finger rubbing on the mirror, and when Cristiano's finished, Neymar spins around to see.

His vision blurs as tears come to his eyes, and he desperately blinks them back so Cristiano doesn't notice.

Because there, next to Neymar's heart, is an identical heart.

And maybe it's not perfect, the lines a little squiggly and the halves not exactly symmetrical--but to him, it's beautiful.

Cristiano's heart. 

Right next to Neymar's.

Neymar's still staring at it, flabbergasted, when Cristiano goes to turn off the water. "All ready," Cristiano says, eyeing the water level before dipping his hand in to test the temperature. "Shouldn't be too hot. I also didn't turn on the jets. I thought it might be too rough on your skin. Better just stick with the warm water."

Neymar can't look away from the mirror. "But--you--," he whispers, words getting stuck in his throat. He reaches out and traces the hearts. His finger moves over first Cristiano's drawing, followed by his own. All of the pressure inside of him disappears, and he starts breathing normally again.

Then he starts feeling all warm inside, all ridiculously giddy and glowy. He doesn't even know if glowy is a word, but that's how he feels.

Because... It's such a small thing.

Such a tiny, little thing. 

It's stupid, really. 

And now he looks stupid, drawing on the mirror when Cristiano is behind him, waiting. "Thanks," Neymar murmurs, curling his hand into a fist and feeling the wetness from the mirror spread onto his palm. He starts to pull up his shirt and then stops.

Shit. He didn't think this through.

"Um," Neymar says, spinning around again to face Cristiano. "So, thanks for getting the tub ready. It's probably better if you just wait downstairs?" he asks, hesitantly. He shifts his weight, skimming his toes against the bathroom tile, ignoring the way Cristiano is looking at him. "You can watch tv, or eat whatever I have. Or maybe you should order something. I dunno if I actually have any real food."

"Neymar," Cristiano says, crossing his arms. "I think I should stay. Is this really a big deal? It's not like you have anything I don't have... And I've seen you naked before, remember?" He laughs. "Come on, I don't want to leave you by yourself while you're so tired. Let me help you." He looks at Neymar imploringly. 

Neymar would take a step back if he could, but he's already pressed up against the counter. Because the thing is, sure Cristiano has seen him naked--but he hasn't seen 'Neymar with mumps' naked. 

And 'Neymar with mumps' looks ugly.

Disgusting.

And, well, *weird*.

"Look," Neymar begins, trying to explain. "My body is just, different, right now. And things aren't the way they're supposed to be, okay? And I don't want you to see. I don't want you to be weirded out. Because things look weird, I know they look weird. Things that shouldn't ever look weird... look weird." When Cristiano continues to look puzzled, Neymar snaps, "my balls are huge, alright?!"

God, it's so fucking embarrassing.

He reaches into his underwear and pulls out the frozen vegetables, slamming down on the counter. "It's gross, okay? But it's like super common when you get the mumps, and it totally happens to everyone... It's just they really hurt and they're like super swollen, and it's so weird, and they make my dick look really tiny, and, and, and, I--I don't want to you to see." He realizes he's shaking and takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm down.

Cristiano appears in front of him, lightly touching him on the arm. "Neymar," he says, withdrawing his hand when Neymar jerks away. "It's okay. If you're that worried about it, I won't look." He laughs a little. "I knew that you might be experiencing... certain symptoms. I asked my doctor when I had the tests done."

Neymar looks up at him, frowning, hating even talking about this.

Cristiano grows serious. "But Neymar, I want to at least help you into the water. If you want me to leave after that, I will. I'll go right downstairs and wait. But, you're tired and sore, and weak--and you need to let me help you. I *want* to help you." When Neymar opens his mouth to protest, Cristiano cuts him off. "I'll be quick and careful, and I won't look at your lower body at all, okay? Please. Let me help."

Neymar withers under Cristiano's coaxing tone. "Okay," he mumbles, plucking at his tank top until his thick fingers can catch the fabric and raise it over his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Cristiano nod in satisfaction, but he ignores him and walks over to the tub. 

Taking a deep breath, he drops his briefs and pants.

Cristiano takes his hand. He's true to his word and keeps his eyes on Neymar's face, with the exception of a quick look to the edge of the tub as Neymar begins to climb in. They move slowly, so that nobody slips, with Neymar being extra careful not to bang any of his limbs. 

And as Neymar sinks into the hot water, he lets out a low moan. Because it doesn't hurt at all. It feels amazing, absolutely amazing. He closes his eyes and lets himself go boneless, arms floating at his sides. He can't believe he didn't do this sooner.

Cristiano laughs, and Neymar opens his eyes and squints at him.

"Here," Cristiano says, holding out a washcloth. "Don't fall asleep and forget that you're in there to get clean." He smiles as Neymar takes the cloth. "So am I banished downstairs now?" he asks, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow.

Neymar makes a face. He looks down into the water. In all actuality, everything is distorted and it's impossible to see... Little Neymar. He dunks the washcloth in the water. "I suppose you could stay up here, if you want," he mutters, trying to act cool and not like he desperately wants company. "But whatever."

Cristiano sits on the edge of the tub. "Then I'll stay," he says, shrugging. He leans over and picks up a bottle of body wash, tossing it from hand to hand idly. "So the water feels okay? It doesn't hurt too much?"

Neymar shifts and leans back against the porcelain. "It doesn't hurt at all," he admits thankfully. "Let me just..." He takes the wet washcloth and runs it over his arm. It isn't the most comfortable feeling. He doesn't know how to describe it. It's like when you have a bruise and you know it's going to hurt a little when you touch it, but you press it anyway. But his skin doesn't ache just because it exists, like it did before. "Okay, this isn't too bad," he says, looking back up at Cristiano.

Cristiano smiles gently at him. "Good," he says. He puts the bottle of body wash back and then picks another, popping the top and smelling it. "Here give me the cloth." Apparently he approves, because he takes the washcloth from Neymar's clumsy fingers and squeezes some of the body wash into it. Setting the bottle to the side, he rubs the washcloth together until there's a lather. 

Neymar watches him through slitted eyes, staring blankly at Cristiano when the other man looks at him expectantly. "Hmm?" he says, leaning back against the tub and slouching down into the water.

"Give me your hand," Cristiano says, bemused. He puts his palm out, waiting, and then carefully closes his fingers around Neymar's when Neymar obeys. Then he smooths the soapy washcloth down Neymar's arm. When Neymar tenses, Cristiano reduces the amount of pressure he's applying. "Okay?" he asks, flicking his eyes to meet Neymar's. Neymar nods cautiously and Cristiano continues to move the cloth slowly, cleaning both the top and the underside of Neymar's arm. "Alright, now rinse," he orders, dropping Neymar's hand into the water.

Neymar swishes his arm around, watching as the soap swirls in the water. He's counting the little bubbles that have formed, when he's startled by Cristiano getting up and moving to the other side of the tub.

"Other arm now," Cristiano says, holding out his hand. They repeat the process, Neymar shivering as Cristiano moves the cloth over his skin again. When that arm is clean, Cristiano winks at him. "Shall we do your legs?" he asks, adding some more body wash to the cloth.

Neymar imagines Cristiano's fingers holding his ankle, and sliding the cloth over his calf, then his knee, then down his thigh... "I can do that myself," he says, strangled. "In fact, I can do the rest myself," he says thinking about how he doesn't want Cristiano's hands smoothing down his chest, the cloth skimming over his nipples and then down his stomach...

Little Neymar starts to perk up.

Oh God...

"Um, yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

Cristiano shrugs. "Okay, how about your feet?" He makes a gimme motion with his hand. "I can help with that, at least."

Neymar shakes his head. "No, my feet are ticklish," he says automatically. Then he recoils in horror at the looks of absolute glee that's spreading across Cristiano's face.

"Your feet are ticklish," Cristiano repeats slowly, grinning. As Neymar mentally kicks himself, Cristiano tilts his head to the side. "Verrrrrrrry good to know." He continues to look mischievously at Neymar, who groans.

"Oh, I shouldn't have said that," Neymar mutters to himself, sliding down under the water until it's covering his mouth, lapping at his nose. The action makes his toes appear above the water at the other end of the tub, but he's quick to hide them--afraid that Cristiano will lunge for them. As a result, his bony knees end up sticking up out of the water. 

But, well, his feet are safe.

He peers up at Cristiano who is coughing into his sleeve.

Except that cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

Cristiano straightens up, a smile still playing around his lips. "I promise I won't tickle you," he says. "Until you're better, that is." When Neymar keeps half his face in the water, Cristiano laughs. "Fine, fine. I know when I'm not wanted." He drops the washcloth into the water for Neymar to fish out, and puts the bottle of body wash right on the edge so that Neymar can reach it.

Neymar thinks he's leaving, but then he reaches out and rests his hand on top of Neymar's head. Almost immediately he lifts it off, holding it in the air. A strange look comes over his face, and Neymar realizes, hiding his smile in the water, that Cristiano is absolutely horrified at the state of Neymar's hair.

Well, to be fair, it is pretty gross right now.

"Before I go," Cristiano asks, obviously trying to be delicate. "Do you want--if you want--maybe, I could help wash your hair?" 

Neymar mulls it over. Admittedly, it would be a little hard for him to do it himself. His arms feel great just floating in the water, but when he imagines lifting them over his head to scrub at his hair... He aches just thinking about it. "Okay," Neymar eventually agrees, raising his head just enough so that he can speak. "If--if you're careful," he murmurs. "Please don't touch my neck."

His disgusting goiter throbs, as if it knows Neymar's talking about it.

"I'll be careful," Cristiano agrees instantly. He goes over to the sink and gets a cup, waving it in the air. "This way you won't have to dunk underneath," he explains. 

Neymar sits up hesitatingly, shivering. His nipples harden as his wet skin hits the cooler air. It hurts, actually, with them being overly sensitive at the moment, and he wants to raise a hand to them--but doesn't dare draw attention with Cristiano still here. He finds himself wringing his hands together in his lap, not knowing what to do as Cristiano sits on the edge of the tub behind him and sorts through Neymar's shampoos. 

"Alright," Cristiano says, apparently adequately prepared. "Scoot forward a little bit so that when you tip your head back the water won't go everywhere." Neymar complies, holding back a groan as his back leaves the support of the tub. Cristiano reaches into the water and fills his cup. "Okay, let's wet it first and see how that goes," he says, raising the cup up next to Neymar's shoulder.

Neymar tilts his head back obediently and shuts his eyes, flinching only slightly at the sensation as Cristiano slowly pours the water over his hair. It streams down his neck and runs in rivulets down his back. He's more startled by the feeling than any actual pain, and he can feel himself losing some of the tension in his shoulders.

When he doesn't complain, Cristiano puts the cup down and squirts out some shampoo into his hands. "Okay, tell me if I'm too rough," he says softly, lightly running his fingers through Neymar's hair. He starts carefully massaging Neymar's scalp, fighting his way through the greasy strands and letting the foamy shampoo do its work.

It must be disgusting.

But it feels good.

Really good.

Cristiano starts talking about something, but Neymar finds himself zoning out. His eyes grow heavy and he hunches over, letting Cristiano's soothing voice wash over him. The hands in his hair continue to move, gently scratching and rubbing, and Neymar can't remember the last time he felt something so wonderful. In fact, Neymar can't remember the last time he washed his hair...

Actually...

That wakes Neymar up.

Because the last time his hair was washed (which is really gross since he didn't wash it after training which was like a week ago now)... was when Leo washed it in Cristiano's shower.

Oh, Leo... He remembers the kisses they'd shared, and the way he'd pressed Leo against the cold tiles. Everything had felt so amazing, Leo's fingers caressing his hair and his body as they stood together under the stream of hot water. Especially since Neymar had waited so long in the bathroom by himself--because Leo and Cristiano had been having a private discussion--

Fuck.

Neymar remembers now. He remembers the way Cristiano had sent him away, wanting to talk to Leo. And how Leo had just smiled and sent Neymar on, turning back to Cristiano.

And Neymar had been alone, crying on the floor.

"Alright," Cristiano says, dropping his hands and swishing them in the water next to Neymar. "Let's rinse." He picks up the cup again and waits for Neymar to tilt back his head.

Neymar closes his eyes. "I--" he says, as he tips his head and lets Cristiano pour a new cupful of water over his hair. "I was just thinking. About when Leo washed my hair before." He swallows hard, feeling some tears come to his eyes.

He doesn't want to remember his panic attack in the bathroom. 

But he has to know if they were talking about him.

He has to know for sure.

"Oh," Cristiano says, pleased. "Has he? Who's better at it? I bet it's me. Go on, tell me." He runs his fingers through Neymar's hair as he pours another cupful to continue rinsing. "My hands are bigger, you know," he says suggestively. "That means I'm better at a lot of things."

Neymar cracks a smile, but he can feel his lips trembling.

"It was--last week... You made us wash off the smell of the plane," he starts, somehow managing to keep his voice level. He lets out a little "oh," as Cristiano squirts some more shampoo in his hair and returns to working up a lather. Somehow Neymar manages to soldier on. "He joined me in the shower."

"Oh, yeah," Cristiano says, hands slowing down their scrubbing for a moment before resuming. "I would have joined you too, you know. If my back hadn't been killing me. That would have been nice," he says, carding his fingers through Neymar's soapy strands. He stops and peers closely at Neymar's hair. "Neymar," he says, sounding delighted, "does your hair curl?"

Neymar's surprised. "What?" he says, fingers twisting underneath the water. "Oh, yes," he admits. "If I let it." He takes a deep breath as Cristiano's hands start massaging again. "But, Cristiano," he says, knowing that this is the moment. "When I was in the shower--what were you talking to Leo about?" 

He tries to sound casual.

Tries to sound like he's just curious, just making conversation.

Cristiano hums. "Oh, that," he says, dipping his hands in the water to clean them. He picks up the cup and starts to rinse Neymar's hair again. "I asked him about what happened against Roma."

Neymar opens his eyes, brow furrowed, not understanding. "Roma?" he repeats, staring at the ceiling as Cristiano combs his fingers through his hair while pouring the water, muttering something about curls. "We won against Roma," Neymar says, confused. "I scored. He scored."

Neymar doesn't understand why they couldn't have talked about that in front of him.

Cristiano finishes rinsing Neymar's head and reaches for a bottle of conditioner. "Yeah," he says, distracted. "But Leo head butted a guy and then grabbed him by the throat." He pops the cap and lets some drip into his hand. "We hadn't talked about it. And, I just wanted to hear why."

Neymar lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Oh," he says, enormously relieved. He can't believe he got *so* upset about them talking--thinking they were going to break up with him-- and it turns out it had nothing to do with him at all. God, he must have been feverish without even noticing it... He goes still as Cristiano starts to smooth the conditioner over his hair. "Well, it was because that guy was an asshole," he says, returning to the conversation. "I saw how he kept banging into Leo, throwing elbows, grabbing his shirt. He was asking for it. And Leo said he was talking shit about Barcelona, too."

Cristiano snorts. "Right," he says, finishing up. He swishes his hands in the water and then stands up to go get a towel to dry his hands. "That's what he told you." As Neymar's still trying to figure out what that means, Cristiano comes back to the tub and sits so Neymar can see him. "And that's why I asked to talk to him alone."

Neymar doesn't understand.

Yet again.

He feels so stupid.

And maybe that must show on his face, because Cristiano reaches out and gently thumbs his cheek--like he did at the door earlier. "It was because of you." He moves to run his thumb across Neymar's lips. "It wasn't because that guy was talking shit about Barcelona... He was talking shit about you, my pretty boy." He smiles at Neymar, baring his teeth. "And our Leo? He. Did. Not. Like. That."

Neymar stares at him. Cristiano drops his hand, but Neymar can feel his lips tingling. "No," Neymar says. "That can't be right. He would have told me!"

Cristiano smirks. "Oh, like you both tell me the shit your teammates say about me?" He raises an eyebrow as Neymar's face goes blank. "I don't think so. You don't tell me what they say because you want to protect me. Like I'll be upset about whatever bullshit Alves spouts off in the lockeroom. Obviously I don't give a fuck, but I appreciate the thought." He taps his fingers on the side of the tub. "That goes both ways, kid. Leo and I aren't going to tell you if we hear something particularly nasty about you. Why would we?"

They're both quiet after that, Neymar trying to take it all in, trying to decide how he feels that a-Leo lied to him, but b-Leo picked a fight to protect his honor. His honor? God, he feels a little annoyed. A little ticked that they're treating him like some ridiculous helpless maiden in a fairy tale.

"I can protect myself," Neymar finally says, grabbing the washcloth and swiping it over his legs. He can feel Cristiano's eyes on him, but he doesn't look up. "I don't need you guys to do that for me." He scrubs his feet under the water vigorously. "I don't need you to keep that shit from me--whatever it is they're saying. And I don't need Leo getting into fights over it. I can--I can--deal with it myself."

He adds some more body wash to his washcloth and rubs it together before starting to run it down his chest. 

Cristiano laughs. "We know you can," he says quietly. "But you're missing the point again." He bares his teeth again. "We're going to do it anyway. Because you're *ours*."

Neymar can't help the smile that comes over his face. He should be annoyed still, but his anger bleeds away as he starts to feel all glowy again. They want him. And he likes the idea that he belongs to somebody. Or to somebodies, as the case might be.

"Besides," Cristiano says, going back to his position behind Neymar once Neymar's finished washing the rest of his body. "Didn't you think it was kinda hot to see Leo all riled up?" He picks up the cup and starts rinsing out the conditioner. "I love when he gets angry on the pitch. It's rare now, you know. Happened a little more when he was younger. But now, he's more in control of himself. Usually he'll just destroy teams with his feet. But sometimes, when he's furious--he'll try to start something." He leans in closer to Neymar's ear. "It means after the game he'll be aching for a *fuck*."

Neymar shivers.

"I bet he was, wasn't he?" Cristiano continues, purring. "I bet after the game he pushed you into a stall and tore your clothes off, desperate for it." His fingers comb through Neymar's hair as he pours another cupful of water over Neymar's head. "He was getting twitchy just thinking about the game, you know? When he was telling me about what happened? I had to send him to you in the shower, so you could take care of him."

Neymar licks his lips, spinning around to face Cristiano. "Are you trying to get me worked up?" he hisses, holding the washcloth over where he's getting hard. "That's not fair!" And fuck it hurts, his balls throbbing, and his dick pulsing angrily. He wants to pull Cristiano into the tub and grind up against him, to soak his clothes and kiss that smug look off his face and--

Cristiano laughs again. "I'm sorry," he says, raising his hands and shrugging. "It's too easy, really... You and Leo are both the same--both like a bit of dirty talk even though you pretend otherwise." He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Should I go on? Should I talk about how innocent you seem? You might even have yourself fooled. But I know the truth. *I* know how you're really a cock hungry bitch."

Neymar's eyes go wide, fingers clutching at the washcloth while his throat moves nervously.

Cristiano leans in. "Because you are, aren't you? You can top Leo all you want, press him against the bed and worship his sweet ass... Bury yourself in his tight heat and stay there until you're spent. Because God knows, that's heavenly... And you'd love it, of course you'd love it." He clucks his tongue, shaking his head. "But you want more, don't you?" 

His eyes are knowing, taunting, keeping Neymar frozen in place.

"You want to be manhandled, too. Told what to do. Bent over my knee. You want me to hold you against the wall, my hands on your wrists, keeping you there while you squirm and moan. It'd be easy for me, you know. I'm so much stronger than you... I could do it. I could fuck you that way--fuck your tight little ass so hard that you'd feel it for days." Cristiano licks his lips, looking at Neymar through his lashes. "That's what you really want, isn't it?"

Neymar can't breathe. 

He's trying, God, he's trying. His heart is racing a mile a minute, blood pumping through his body so fast that he thinks he's going to pass out.

He's so fucking hard, hand flinging the washcloth away and going to his cock before he even realizes what he's doing. He doesn't care that Cristiano's watching him, doesn't care that every stroke brushes against his swollen balls. It hurts, everything hurts, but he needs to do it, needs release. He braces himself with one hand on the tub, water sloshing everywhere, kneeling as he frantically jerks himself off to Cristiano's voice.

He's going to come embarrassingly soon.

"Ever since you walked in on me fucking Leo that way--that very first time months ago--that's what you've wanted," Cristiano continues, looking unruffled as Neymar's hand moves furiously beneath the water and leaves nothing to the imagination. "To be fucked. I knew it then, and I know it now. And you know what?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "You won't have to wait much longer. As soon as you're better, that's how I'll have you."

Neymar moans, squeezing his eyes shut. So he doesn't see it, but he feels what Cristiano does next.

Cristiano laughs, reaching out and lazily pinching one of Neymar's furled nipples. "Come for me, Neymar," he growls, fingers twirling the little bud.

And Neymar does, gasping and crying out, chest heaving as that wave of fiery pleasure crashes over him. His hand cramps up as he shoots into the water, body spasming and out of his control. He almost collapses face first into the side of the tub, but Cristiano catches him, cradling him against his chest. Neymar shudders against him, trying to catch his breath, skin still sensitive and aching where Cristiano is holding him.

They stay like that a few moments, Cristiano trailing a hand down Neymar's bare back until Neymar begins to shiver. "Both the same," Cristiano murmurs again, bemused. "Shall we get you out, sweetheart?" Cristiano asks quietly, dropping a kiss on the top of Neymar's head.

Neymar focuses on breathing. "Mmm," he says into Cristiano's shirt, realizing the fabric is now damp from rubbing against this body. "Leo's your sweetheart," he says. He's tired, coming down now. He takes a breath and then another, feeling an intense longing for Leo sweep over his body. 

But he doesn't feel any jealousy.

And he's glad about that.

He hated feeling jealous and insecure about his place with them. But after everything today--after Cristiano's talk with him, and then what just happened--he feels like he's wanted again.

Cristiano laughs, and Neymar can feel it rumble through his body. "*Our* sweetheart," Cristiano corrects. He stands up, steadying Neymar with a hand before going to get a towel from the counter. "But very well," he says, holding the towel over his arm and reaching a hand down to Neymar. "Should we get you out, my pretty boy?" 

Neymar smiles at him, letting himself be helped out of the tub. He's still feeling weak as Cristiano wraps the towel around him. "I really want to kiss you," Neymar mumbles, looking down at his feet. He sighs, seeing his swollen ankles and toes. "I probably shouldn't though. Not yet." His smile disappears at the reminder of his mump body, and he looks up at Cristiano longingly.

"Not yet," Cristiano agrees, steering Neymar out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He sits Neymar down on the bed and pulls a few pieces of clothing out of Neymar's dresser. "Oh, that reminds me," he says, helping Neymar put on a new tank top. Once Neymar's head has reappeared, Cristiano picks up a pair of briefs. "I brought you some CR7s. They're in the car. I'll get them for you tomorrow." He hands Neymar the Lupo briefs and a pair of shorts, motioning for Neymar to continue getting dressed.

Neymar looks up at him, unable to keep the smile from his face. 

He's giddy.

Cristiano eyes him oddly. "Is that okay?" he asks. He starts to take the shorts and briefs back. "Should I get some sweatpants or something...?" He looks over his shoulder at the dresser.

Neymar grabs them back. "No, no," he says, clearing his throat. "These are fine." He's grinning like a madman, but he can't seem to care. "And tomorrow you'll get the CR7s." 

Cristiano shakes his head, smiling even though he doesn't understand. "Right. Why don't you out those on and I'll clean up the bathroom." At Neymar's nod, he walks back to drain the water.

Neymar changes quickly, collapsing back on the bed when he's finished. He eyes the painkillers on the bedside table and sighs, sitting back up so that he can take a few. He really can't wait to be done with all of this. Cristiano walks back in as Neymar's chugging a bottle of water. "So you're staying?" Neymar asks, swallowing the last few sips. "Here? Tonight, I mean."

Cristiano crosses his arms. "Yes," he says. "I'll watch the game with you tomorrow, at least, before I have to head back to Madrid." 

Neymar's face falls, remembering about the 4-0 loss. He'd forgotten that they had the second leg to play. Not that it really matters. 

It's over. 

He knows it's over. 

Cristiano comes over and takes the empty water bottle from him. "Hey," he says gently. "Why don't you lie back and take a nap, hmm?" He pulls back the sheets and helps Neymar slide in. "And then when you wake up, we'll have some food and give Leo a call."

Neymar's eyes start closing. "I miss him," he confesses, blinking slowly as his eyelids get heavier. "Do you miss him?" There's a part of him inside that aches when Leo's not around. He settles his fingers around his blanket, hoping that he's not the only one. 

Cristiano snorts. "Of course I do. And later when we talk to him, we'll tell him that. Okay?" He walks over and turns out the light, standing in the doorway. "Right after we yell at him for not picking up our calls, that is." And then he ducks out, pulling the door closed behind him.

For the first time in a long time, Neymar falls asleep smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I was aiming for 5k, but it ran away from me, so I hope the extra length makes up for the extra waiting :)
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	5. chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar wakes up feeling good. No. Not good. Great.
> 
> Okay, not great. But... better. Really better.
> 
> He stretches slowly, waiting for his skin to start aching. But it doesn't, and he can't help but close his eyes and thank God that it doesn't. He breathes in and out, in and out, simply enjoying the sensation of being free from pain.
> 
> It's amazing.
> 
> It's fan-fucking-tastic.
> 
> He doesn’t even remember a time where he felt this good. Okay, well, maybe like last week before he got the mumps. But still.

Neymar wakes up feeling good. No. Not good. Great.

Okay, not great. But... better. Really better.

He stretches slowly, waiting for his skin to start aching. But it doesn't, and he can't help but close his eyes and thank God that it doesn't. He breathes in and out, in and out, simply enjoying the sensation of being free from pain.

It's amazing.

It's fan-fucking-tastic.

He doesn’t even remember a time where he felt this good. Okay, well, maybe like last week before he got the mumps. But still.

He opens his eyes again and then sits up, peeling the covers off his body and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He's still a little tired, even though a quick look out the widow tells him that he slept through the whole night. Wearily, he trudges to the bathroom and pees, body kinda on autopilot, eyes half closed as he thinks about going back to bed. After he washes his hands, he turns to leave.

But his eyes catch the tub, the washcloth hung over the side...

And he remembers.

He remembers everything from last night.

And he smiles.

He quickly brushes his teeth, and it’s the first time he’s done it in a few days which is really gross. But he has to do it, so he mentally counts to a hundred and scrubs all around his mouth including his tongue, rinsing the sink afterward. Then he practically skips downstairs, thinking about how Cristiano had tucked him into bed.

It wasn't just that of course, it was everything... It was the way Cristiano had explained he cared about Neymar, the way he'd helped Neymar into the tub...

And fuck, the way Cristiano had *talked* to him in the tub...

Neymar shivers a little as he takes the last few steps onto the main floor.

He knows he has a dopey smile on his face as he makes his way across the room, looking from side to side for Cristiano. There's the sound of water running for a moment, followed by the clattering of silverware as he walks towards the kitchen, and Neymar quickens his pace, desperately excited. And sure, his stomach is fluttering, but it's a good fluttering--an anticipation.

He stops in the doorway of the kitchen and clears his throat.

Because there he is.

Cristiano is perched on the counter, wearing basketball shorts and a plain, white t-shirt, casually eating a bowl of cereal. He raises his eyebrows and slurps, pulling the spoon out of his mouth and plunking it down in the bowl in his lap. "Well, look at you," he says, smiling softly. He trails his eyes down Neymar's body before snapping them back to Neymar's face. "And how are we feeling today, my pretty boy?" he asks, setting the bowl to the side and lazily leaning back on his hands.

Neymar feels that fluttering turn into a burst of warmth at Cristiano's pet name.

"I'm good," he says, taking a step inside the kitchen, his bare feet protesting at the cold, tiled floor. "I mean," he says, ducking his head to break away from Cristiano's penetrating gaze. "I feel a little better." He plays with the hem of his tank top, trying to act cool, and then looks up. "How are you?"

Cristiano laughs. "I'm good," he says, imitating Neymar. Then he looks guilty all of a sudden. "But, ah," he says, scratching a hand through his hair. "I think I scared one of your roommates this morning. He came in here and saw me, and thought he was hallucinating." Cristiano twists his lips, amused. "I told him he wasn't, but, he kinda threw a water bottle at me and then ran away."

He gestures to the side of the sink where there’s an innocent looking water bottle next to the faucet.

Neymar laughs, too. "Um, okay," he says, looking over his shoulder. There isn't any sign of anyone, so he shrugs. "Well, I mean, sometimes the pain meds made me a little loopy, so I could understand him thinking that..." He turns back to Cristiano. "And I haven't told a lot of people about you. About us."

He doesn't say it was because he was afraid.

But, well, that was why... Because he thought there was no way it could last.

Now he knows better.

Cristiano's staring at him again, brows slightly furrowed, and Neymar takes a step closer to him. "I'll have to rectify that," Neymar says smiling. "I *want* to rectify that," he corrects, happy to see the lines on Cristiano's forehead disappear.

Neymar takes another step into the kitchen. "Did you clean?" He looks around curiously. Admittedly, he'd been pretty out of it recently, and that had led to the trash piling up. And the dirty dishes. Not that there had been many due to his lack of appetite, but when he actually forced himself to eat, he didn't give a fuck about cleaning. (Part of the reason why Mount Recycling had formed upstairs)

Unfortunately, his cleaning lady had been forbidden from entering while he was contagious.

Cristiano shrugs. "Eh, a little," he says, picking up his bowl of cereal and taking another mouthful. He looks at Neymar's surprised face and grins. "What? You think I can't wipe a few counters? I'm not helpless." He takes another bite, scraping the bowl with his spoon, and then slurps up what milk remains. "I even went out and got milk all by myself," he says, winking when he's finished.

"Oh," Neymar says, "well, thanks." He rubs his neck. "Sorry, I'm not really being much of a host," he mutters, scuffing his feet on the tiles.

Cristiano laughs and Neymar looks up.

"First of all," Cristiano says, setting the bowl in the sink and slipping off the counter. "I invited myself over," he says, raising his eyebrows. He walks over to Neymar, his own bare feet moving soundlessly. "Second of all," he says, stopping a few inches from Neymar, "you've been sick."

Cristiano towers over Neymar, but it's somehow comforting as opposed to threatening.

"And third of all," Cristiano says quietly, reaching out and running a hand gently through Neymar's hair, "I can take care of myself." His fingers card through Neymar's curls carefully. "If anything, I should be taking care of you."

Neymar blinks up at him, enjoying the feeling of Cristiano's fingers petting him. "You are," he says, leaning into Cristiano's hand without realizing it. "Thank you... I don't think I said that yet, but thank you."

Cristiano smiles at him. "But seriously, how are we *really* feeling today, my pretty boy?" he asks again, causing Neymar to frown in confusion.

"Didn't you already ask me that?" Neymar questions, wondering if maybe he's more tired than he thought. "I feel a little better."

"I did," Cristiano says, looking amused. He moves his hand down to cup the back of Neymar's neck, smile growing when Neymar continues to look confused. Cristiano's other hand grips Neymar's shoulder before sliding down Neymar's arm. "Just a little better?" he asks, laughing. His hand thumbs Neymar's forearm strangely and then moves to touch Neymar's wrist.

Neymar clutches at Cristiano's shirt as the other man pulls him closer. "I--what?"

Cristiano's smile turns soft. He takes Neymar's hand and holds it between them, looking down at it critically before looking back at Neymar. "Have you looked in a mirror, today?" he asks, raising Neymar's hand higher so Neymar can see it. "You aren't swollen anymore, my pretty boy."

Neymar looks down in surprise.

Because Cristiano's right.

Neymar's fingers look like normal fingers.

They don't look fat sausages next to Cristiano's long, graceful fingers.

Neymar can only stare, speechless, as Cristiano weaves both of their hands together. "And this doesn't hurt, does it?" Cristiano asks, squeezing slightly. When Neymar shakes his head dumbly, Cristiano laughs again. "I'm glad." He takes their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Neymar's. "I don't want you to hurt," he says while Neymar continues to gape at him, “especially when I touch you.”

Neymar makes a little sound in his throat, his cheeks heating up.

"Does this mean I'm not ugly anymore?" Neymar blurts out, searching Cristiano's face for answers. "My face--my neck?" He's dying to turn around and look in the mirror by the door, but he manages to rein it in.

Cristiano doesn't laugh.

"You were never ugly, Neymar," Cristiano says, dropping Neymar's hands to cup his face. He smooths his thumbs across Neymar's cheekbones, before smoothing a hand across Neymar's forehead. When Neymar's eyes flutter closed at the sensation, Cristiano repeats the action, soothingly. "You're a very silly man. That's what you are."

His fingers trail across Neymar's skin, sweeping under his eyes, stroking down his nose, tracing his lips.

Neymar opens his eyes at the last touch, watching as Cristiano focuses on his lips.

Cristiano catches him watching and half-smiles. "But your face is back to normal." After thumbing Neymar's lips one last time, he slides his hands to either side of Neymar's neck. "And this is back to normal, too."

Neymar's eyes fill with tears.

"My goiter is gone?" Neymar says happily, unable to keep his tears from spilling down his cheeks. "Really?" He laughs, raising a hand to wipe his eyes as Cristiano chuckles and pulls him closer. "I can't--," Neymar says, trying to explain how gleeful he is.

In the end, he hides his face in Cristiano's shirt, feeling Cristiano's arms come up around him.

“I wouldn’t say you’re totally recovered, yet,” Cristiano says into Neymar’s hair. “But if you aren’t feeling any pain from this, and your swelling has gone down, you’re on the right track. It’s your parotids that were swollen, by the way…” He starts to mention the thyroid and iodine deficiency, but Neymar tips his head up and looks at him with glazed eyes.

“Never mind,” Cris says. “I think you know that you need to keep eating and drinking and resting…” His hands smooth down Neymar’s spine. “Don’t try to push it too fast. You know what it’s like, coming back from an injury. Illness is the same way. I don’t want you to get overwhelmed.”

In truth, Neymar is only half listening. He’s thinking about getting back out there-back into the world, really.

“Whatever it is, it’s gone,” Neymar repeats, letting out a long sigh. “Oh thank God.” He squeezes his eyes shut and says a little prayer. Then he has a thought and pulls back. “Oh my God! That means…” He takes a step away from Cristiano and looks down towards his dick. “My balls!” he exclaims happily, looking up at Cristiano.

And honestly, if Cristiano weren’t there, Neymar would be sticking a hand down his shorts to make sure they’re back to normal too.

Cristiano laughs. “Um, yeah, they’re probably okay again,” he says running a hand through his hair and shrugging. He watches as Neymar does a little dance. “I have a paper somewhere in my suitcase with the mumps timetable on it,” he says, moving towards his bag on the couch.

Neymar stops dancing. “You have a paper about the mumps?” he asks curiously. “Why don’t I have that?”

Cristiano turns around and arches an eyebrow. “I have it because I asked my doctor for some information.” He opens his mouth and then shuts it, tilting his head. “I don’t know why you don’t have it… I mean, you have a good doctor, right? You'd better!"

Neymar hums. “Well, I’ve been kinda out of it,” he says, thinking through the past few days. “I never asked for info, I guess.” He bounces around and then sits on the edge of the couch. “And the doctor’s okay. He hasn’t been back since the first day, though. I mean, it’s not like there was a lot for him to do. He just diagnosed me and told me to rest and everything.”

Cristiano mutters something and sounds like he disagrees, but he goes back towards his bag.

Neymar sticks his tongue out at him. Then he wonders... if he just turns his back to Cristiano, then maybe he can pull his shorts out a little and look down and see if…

“Neymar?” Cristiano asks from behind him.

“What? No, yes, I mean,” Neymar says quickly, putting his hands on his hips. “What?” He tries to look as innocent as possible. Then he realizes he's utterly failing and laughs instead, hoping Cristiano just thinks he's being his normal self.

But Cristiano sees right through him and just arches an eyebrow, leaning against the couch. “You know I don’t care if you want to look at your dick, right?” He smirks. “Go on, take everything off and give me a show.” His eyes go dark. "It's not like I haven't seen it before."

Neymar feels his cheeks getting hot, but then he can't help laughing. “Sorry," he says at Cristiano's surprised look. "I mean, you try having swollen balls and then tell me you aren’t excited when they’re back to normal.” He thinks about what he’s just said and laughs again. It’s embarrassing, but he knows Cristiano doesn’t care.

Those dark eyes stay focused on him, and Neymar wonders if--

His stomach chooses that minute to growl.

Loudly.

Cristiano’s smirk changes into something kinder. “You should eat,” he says seriously, walking back towards the kitchen. “I got milk like I said, but I also got some other fresh stuff.” He points to a bag on the counter that Neymar hadn’t noticed. “Some fruit and vegetables since I noticed you didn’t have any that were still good.”

Neymar ducks his head, still unused to Cristiano being so caring. “Thanks,” he says, moving towards the bag. He starts unpacking things, pulling out some strawberries and bananas, followed by spinach and kale. He’s pretty sure that he manages to hide his disgust when he sees the leafy greens, but Cristiano laughs, approaching him.

“Put them in a smoothie,” Cristiano says, taking them from his hands and setting them on the counter. “I swear you won’t even taste them. But they’re good for you, especially since you haven’t been eating well this week.” He starts talking about iron and vitamin deficiency, moving around Neymar’s kitchen and pulling out a cutting board and then some yogurt from the fridge.

Neymar just watches him fondly, amazed that this is happening right now.

Cristiano grabs a knife from the block on the counter, setting it onto the cutting board, and then comes back over to Neymar. His hands find Neymar’s hips, thumbs slipping under Neymar’s tank top to touch his bare skin. “You’re in my way, lazy bones,” Cristiano murmurs, leaning in to whisper into Neymar’s ear.

Neymar merely shudders, allowing himself to be moved to the side so that Cristiano can go through the shopping bag.

Cristiano starts talking to himself as he looks through it. “Aha,” he says, pulling out some protein powder and vitamins. “Take these,” he says, handing the pill bottles to Neymar and then moving over to the cutting board.

Neymar makes a face.

“Frankly,” Cristiano says, rinsing off the strawberries, “I can’t believe you’re even standing. I don’t know what you’ve eaten this week.” He starts cutting off the tops of the strawberries and tossing the rest of the berries into a blender. “You’re going to have to start eating regularly so you can get your appetite back.”

Neymar hums, struggling to open one of the pill bottles.

Cristiano sees him, but doesn’t help. “And your strength back, apparently,” he adds, peeling a banana. He shakes his head as he spoons in some yogurt. "Weakling."

“I am extremely strong,” Neymar mutters, trying with all his might to unscrew the vitamins. “It’s glued on,” he announces, tossing it onto the counter when he can’t get the lid off. “Someone has obviously tampered with it. Take it back and get a refund.”

Cristiano laughs. “If by ‘tampered with,’ you mean ‘childproof,’ well yes, you’re right.” He rinses off the kale and spinach, adding huge handfuls into the blender.

“I am not drinking that,” Neymar says, watching the enormous amount of kale that gets added. “That is going to taste terrible.” He frowns as Cristiano opens the protein powder and shakes some into the mixture. “Terrible, terrible, terrible… Is this really how you live? Because I have to tell you that Leo would never eat that either.”

Cristiano puts the lid on the blender. “When he’s with me, he does,” he promises, smiling pleasantly at Neymar. Then he turns the blender on and they both watch the machine create a disgusting looking smoothie.

Well, that’s what Neymar thinks, at least.

"He does not," Neymar says, making a face. "He doesn't like kale," he says, thinking back to one time when they'd gotten salads at some random restaurant. "I don't know about spinach," he admits when Cristiano just stares at him.

Cristiano grins. "He drinks whatever I make. I can be very persuasive... But you're right about the kale," he confirms. "He likes spinach, though." He pauses the blender and walks over to the freezer, grabbing a few ice cubes. “The colder, the better, I would think,” he says. “In case you have a sore throat. The paper says you might.”

Neymar slides down the counter and sits on the floor, tired of standing. He ignores the incredulous look Cristiano gives him. “This is my house. And my kitchen. And my floor. It is mine.” He pets his floor. “If I want to sit here, I’m allowed to.”

Now both his legs and his feet are cold, but whatever.

“These stools are just decoration, then?” Cristiano asks, dumping the ice into the blender and waving a finger at the stools lined up at the island counter.

Neymar tries to think of a comeback for that, but fails miserably. “Yes,” he ends up saying, shouting it a little when Cristiano turns the blender on to grind up the ice.

Cristiano just continues letting the blender whirl, even after everything is mixed. Neymar is just considering flopping over onto his back when the noise finally stops.

Cristiano grabs a cup out of the cabinet and starts to pour the green frothy liquid in. “I can’t believe you’re still on the floor,” he says as he tops off the glass. “You’re such a child.”

“If you can tell me that you’ve never in your life just sat on your kitchen floor, for no particular reason, then I’ll get up,” Neymar says, knowing he’s being ridiculous.

But also, he really is tired of standing and the floor is nice and flat.

Cristiano hums. “Fine,” he admits. “Congratulations. You’re right. I’ve done it.”

Neymar would do a little happy dance if he had the energy.

“Now get up and let’s go sit on the couch,” Cristiano says setting the cup and the half-full blender on the counter. He holds a hand down to Neymar. “I adore you,” he says, seriously, “but I’m not sitting down there with you when the couch is right there.”

Neymar thinks this over, trying not to get too excited about the fact that Cristiano has just said he ‘adores’ him, and then accepts the hand up. It gives him a little thrill, seeing the way that Cristiano's hand is grasping his. Especially since the day before, it would have hurt to touch like this. While Neymar is daydreaming, imagining Cristiano's hands moving to different places on his body, Cristiano lets go and picks up the smoothie.

Neymar follows him to the living room. He looks over at his sofa. “Why is there a sheet covering my couch?” he asks as they walk over.

Cristiano sits down and pats the sheet-covered cushion next to him. “I really think your whole couch should be disinfected,” he says matter-of-factly. “But for now, this will do.”

Neymar thinks that over, thinks about how he sat there and sweated for days, wore the same clothes and sweated some more… “Yeah, okay, you have a point.” He joins Cristiano on the couch and takes the smoothie warily. “I’m not drinking this whole thing,” he says defensively.

Cristiano picks up the remote and starts flipping through the channels. “Yes, you are,” he says, only half paying attention. “You’re drinking this glass and then you’re drinking the rest of the pitcher. It’ll be good for you.”

Neymar looks at it.

And its disgusting color. And all its… kaleness.

Nope. Not happening.

Cristiano keeps flipping through the channels. Then he sighs, putting the remote down. “Give it to me,” he says, taking the cup from Neymar. He gives Neymar a look and then takes a sip, putting it on the table right away.

“See, not so good, is it—“ Neymar says, before being cut off.

Because Cristiano turns to kiss Neymar, pushing him against the back of the couch. His body presses Neymar into the cushions, hot and heavy and somehow just the right amount of weight.

Neymar groans, not expecting it, but melting at once. He grabs at the back of Cristiano’s neck, fingers pulling on his hair, trying to get more, more, *more*.

Cristiano lets him, moving his lips against Neymar’s, enticing Neymar, getting him to chase his tongue. Neymar does eagerly, opening his mouth wider, sliding his tongue against Cristiano’s. He tastes sweet, hot and wet and delicious…

He’s out of breath when Cristiano pulls back, hovering above him.

“How was that?” Cristiano asks, voice throaty, cheeks slightly flushed. He doesn’t move his body, keeps his hips pressed against Neymar, while his fingers comb through Neymar’s curls. He leans in, teasingly, parting his lips like he’s going to offer another kiss. “Good?”

“What,” Neymar says dumbly, arching up, trying to catch Cristiano’s mouth. "Ugh, good."

“Good,” Cristiano repeats, pulling back abruptly. He reaches over to the table and picks up the smoothie, handing it to Neymar with a smile. “I’m glad you liked it.” His eyes are bright like he’s laughing at Neymar, and he closes Neymar’s fingers around the cup before turning back to the television.

“No, but, no,” Neymar says, tugging on Cristiano’s shirt. “I meant the kiss, please,” he begs, “kiss me again.” He takes a sip of the smoothie. “See, look, I’m drinking it,” he says around the liquid. It really does taste icky, and he forces himself to swallow. “Wow, that was so good,” he says blandly. “Gosh darn, that kale really makes the difference, don’t you think?”

Cristiano eyes him and tilts his head to the glass. “Another sip.”

Neymar sticks his tongue out. Then he tries to cross his eyes and look down at it to see if it’s green from the smoothie.

It’s not.

“Another sip gets me another kiss,” Neymar bargains. He wraps his fist in Cristiano’s shirt, getting a gorgeous glimpse of a strip of golden skin as he does so. Cristiano's shirt has slid up just a touch, the fabric wrinkling in such a way that an inch of his belly is on display... He shakes his head, realizing Cristiano is talking, and looks up to meet his eyes. “Sorry, what?”

Cristiano smiles. “I said, alright. Another sip gets you another kiss.” He scoots closer to Neymar on the couch and puts his hand on Neymar’s knee. “Go on.”

Neymar feels like this is a trap, but he takes another sip. This one goes down easier than the first, though he’s still not enjoying it. He makes a face, but then licks his lips. “Kiss!” he exclaims, yanking on Cristiano’s shirt to pull him closer. He's hoping in a few seconds that he'll be able to pull it off completely.

Cristiano smiles, leaning in and brushing his lips softly over Neymar’s cheek. “Kiss,” he says, pulling back.

He’s a tease.

A. Fucking. Tease.

“No, no, no,” Neymar says, not having any of it. He pulls Cristiano in harder. “A real kiss,” he orders, pouting.

Cristiano keeps smiling, devastatingly handsome with his brilliant white teeth, flicking his eyes from Neymar’s gaze to his mouth. “Alright,” he says, giving in, “a real kiss.” He leans in again, nudging against Neymar’s nose, skin to skin. Then he opens his mouth—giving Neymar what they both really want.

Neymar’s mind goes blank, and he loses himself in the kiss. Cristiano’s lips and teeth and tongue, all move against his, all tasting glorious. Neymar gasps without meaning to, hand clenched in Cristiano’s shirt. “A real kiss,” he mumbles against Cristiano’s mouth, before diving in again, groaning. He keeps trying to pull Cristiano closer, keeps trying to get the other man to press him into the cushions again. Wants that heavy weight on top of him, crushing him in the best possible way...

But Cristiano pulls back again.

“Enough,” Cristiano says, eyes dark again, reaching to peel Neymar’s hand off of his shirt. “God, you’re just—,” he trails off, looking away and staring blankly at the tv. His foot jiggles on the floor before he realizes and goes still. “Fuck.”

“What?” Neymar asks, fingers curling into a fist, nails cutting his palm. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, but he wants to fix it, desperately wants to fix it. “I’ll drink the smoothie,” he promises, lunging forward to grab the cup. His hand is shaking and some of it spills on his arm, so he just licks it up. “I’ll drink all of it.”

He's hurt, confused, uncertain. Is this--did he mess things up? He barely tastes the kale this time, swallowing his mouthful quickly so he can drink more.

“No,” Cristiano says, sighing, carefully grabbing Neymar’s hand to steady the cup. “That’s not it.” He shakes his head ruefully. “You *will* drink the smoothie,” he says, a hint of a smile on his face. “But that’s not it.”

“Then… what?” Neymar asks, utterly bewildered.

Cristiano rolls his eyes. “Neymar, you’re still recovering,” he says, shaking his head again. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be treating you like this. You can barely stand… or sit up, even,” he adds, seeing how Neymar is slouching over on the couch. "And I'm pushing you, holding you down."

Neymar straightens immediately. “What? No! I’m fine!” he protests. “What does that even have to do with this?”

He likes when Cristiano holds him down.

Cristiano’s gaze focuses on Neymar’s. “You’re still sick, Neymar. Just because you’re not swollen anymore, and your skin doesn’t ache when I touch you… And fuck--I'm happy for you, so happy for you--but that doesn’t mean that it’s okay to push you like this.” He mumbles something under his breath. “I shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn't have stayed here.”

Neymar feels a little curl of anger flicker through him. “That’s not fair,” he says quietly. He pulls his arm away from Cristiano, suddenly hating that Cristiano always seems to be deciding things for him. Maybe it's the fever still bothering him, or the fatigue, but he's unable to bite his tongue. “I think I know my body better than you. Just because of—” he trails off and looks away, “whatever we are… doesn’t mean you get to decide things for me.”

Cristiano drops his hand. “‘Whatever we are’?” he repeats slowly. “What we are,” he says tensely, “is in a relationship, no?” He takes a deep breath. “I thought that much was clear, at least,” he says quietly.

Neymar grits his teeth. The kale smoothie is churning in his stomach, threatening to come up. He doesn't like feeling like this, doesn't like feeling so raw. He's genuinely angry, and he has the strangest desire to hurt Cristiano more--to say something worse than he already has.

He knows exactly what he would say, too.

For once in his life, he knows what he would say.

Because he hasn't been with Cristiano long, but he knows his weak spots. Knows what makes Cristiano angry. Knows the few things that Cristiano holds above all--honesty, loyalty, friends, family...

So yes, Neymar knows what he could say. He could say that that they aren't in a relationship, that Neymar's never even thought anything close to that. He could forget the smoldering eyes, the gentle kisses, the hand on the back of his neck...

He could say that he just went along with whatever Cristiano said, lied to him constantly, just to get what he wanted. It wouldn't be hard--Neymar could do it. Neymar could say he hates Cristiano.

And when Cristiano called him on it, Neymar could just mention one more thing. The thing Cristiano loves most, the thing Neymar can hurt him with the most.

Or rather, not the thing, but the person.

Leo.

Neymar could say he doesn't give a fuck about Cristiano because he only wants Leo-- only *loves* Leo.

But right at this moment, as Neymar stares at Cristiano, he can't say anything like that. Not because he isn't angry anymore (because he definitely still is), but because all he can see is Leo's face.

Leo's soft eyes, his gentle smile... The way his face lights up when they're all together. And the despair that will take over when Leo discovers what has happened.

And then he pictures Cristiano's face. He imagines Cristiano's smile disappearing and a look of intense hurt and devastation appearing in its place. So Neymar sits there, trying to ignore the burning in his throat, the way the churning in his stomach intensifies. He breathes deeply in through his nose, fingers gripping the sheet underneath his hands. Then, very calmly, as Cristiano sits there in silence, waiting for an answer, Neymar stands and walks back into the kitchen.

So Neymar sits there, trying to ignore the burning in his throat, the way the churning in his stomach intensifies. He breathes deeply in through his nose, fingers gripping the sheet underneath his hands. Then, very calmly, as Cristiano sits there in silence, waiting for an answer, Neymar stands and walks back into the kitchen.

And throws up into the sink.

The kale is even more disgusting on the way back up, and he chokes on it, tears streaming down his face. He can barely hold himself over the sink, hands flat on the counter, limbs shaking as he gags and coughs. But he can't move, not even to spare a moment to turn on the water to let it all rinse down the drain, and can only hang there weakly, sniffling.

Then Cristiano is there.

"Alright," Cristiano murmurs, arm wrapping around Neymar's waist, hand palming Neymar's hip. His other hand stretches over Neymar's shoulder and turns on the water. "Calm down," he says gently, moving the faucet from side to side so that the mess gets rinsed away completely. "Just breathe for a minute."

Neymar coughs, closing his eyes and spitting. "I--," he tries, gagging again and leaning over the sink. He shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. A few more escape when he blearily opens his eyes again.

He's mad that he's so upset, mad that once again, he's falling apart and Cristiano seems so unruffled.

"It's alright," Cristiano says, wetting his hand. He cups it to catch some water and then brings it to Neymar's mouth like he's a child. "Rinse and spit," he suggests, and Neymar is quick to comply. "Again," Cristiano says, catching some more water for Neymar to repeat the action. Then Cristiano wets his hand again, slowly bringing it up to wipe Neymar's cheeks, his eyes, his lips. "You're okay," he says, washing away any lingering tears.

Neymar hangs his head, tired again.

"Finished?" Cristiano asks, turning off the water.

Neymar makes a noise in agreement, his stomach seeming to have calmed for the moment. His hands clench on the edge of the counter, and he stands there dripping into the sink, not knowing what to say.

Cristiano lets out a sigh of relief. He stands there behind Neymar, arm still wrapped around his waist. His hand slides from Neymar's hip to his belly, rubbing gently. Then he rests his head on the back of Neymar's shoulder, breathing deeply. "Well, that certainly didn't go well, did it? Fuck... I wish Leo were here."

Neymar turns around. The edge of the counter presses into the small of his back, but he doesn't care. He knows his face is wet and that he probably looks terrible. "Why?" he asks, even though he can probably guess.

Cristiano smiles at him, but it's a weak smile. "I never seem to say the right thing with you," he admits. His eyes search Neymar's, and he cups his cheek. "I want to, oh fuck I want to. But with Leo--" he says, hesitating, closing his eyes in thought as he tries to find the words. After a moment he meets Neymar's gaze. "With Leo, things are easier."

Neymar feels a twinge in his chest. Because he thinks that too.

Cristiano smooths a thumb across Neymar's lips, looking down at his mouth. "I think, because I've already been through this with Leo." He flicks his eyes up to Neymar's again. "I've already broken through his walls, already showed him how much I love him."

Neymar thinks of the way Leo looks at Cristiano.

"And with you," Cristiano says, pausing, hand moving to the back of Neymar's neck, "we're still figuring things out. And I'm going to say the wrong thing sometimes... We're both going to say the wrong things." He looks intently at Neymar, as if trying to figure out whether or not Neymar is convinced. "I'm--we're--," he shrugs, thumb smoothing across the tattoo on Neymar's neck. "It won't be perfect."

Neymar closes his eyes, needing to look away from those eyes for a minute. Because he understands, agrees, is convinced, but he needs to focus on breathing. Having Cristiano looking at him like that makes his heart flutter a little. "I think," he says, hands clenching in Cristiano's shirt, "you're right." He takes a few more deep breaths, slowly, in and out. Then he opens his eyes. "But," he says, trying to summon a smile, "the kale also didn't help."

Cristiano laughs. He pulls Neymar into a hug, and Neymar buries his face in Cristiano's neck. It's such a relief, and he feels tension he didn't even know he had, leaking out of his body.

"I can make you something else," Cristiano offers, hands smoothing over Neymar's back. "I just," he says, pressing a kiss to Neymar's hair, "want you to feel better."

Neymar lets out a shuddering breath. "I do feel better," he says, the words muffled into Cristiano's throat. "Or, I did, at least," he admits, clearing his throat and trying to forget about puking his guts up.

Cristiano sighs, holding Neymar tighter. "I'm not going to say, 'Let's start over,' because that's stupid, okay? But, let's go get you settled on the couch again. Alright?" His hand smooths through Neymar's hair and then settles on the back of Neymar's neck again, hot and heavy.

Neymar nods wordlessly, allowing himself to be tucked under Cristiano's arm and then guided back to the sofa.

Cristiano picks up the kale smoothie and takes it back into the kitchen. Neymar hears the water running again, and then the sound of the cupboards being opened and closed. He hears the fridge too, and what sounds like something being chopped up.

After a minute, Cristiano appears with a new glass. "Orange juice?" he offers, holding a glass in one hand and a plate in the other. "And some fruit," he says, when Neymar nods cautiously.

Neymar sits up and takes the plate, looking down at bite-sized pieces of apples and strawberries and bananas. There's also a little dish of yogurt in the middle with a spoon. "I'm not a child, you know," Neymar says, fighting a smile when he notices the banana slices are arranged in a smiley face.

Cristiano grins, looking more like himself again. He sets the orange juice down on the table and steals a strawberry. "Aren't you?" he asks, popping it into his mouth. "Could've fooled me." He grabs the remote and starts flipping around again, stopping when he finds the channel the game is going to be on. Then he mutes it and sits back against the sofa, arm stretched out along the back in invitation.

Neymar eyes the smiley face again, but gives in, cuddling up to Cristiano with the plate on his lap. "I'm not," he mutters, eating one of the banana slices mutinously. Then he eats another one, finding himself surprisingly hungry.

Cristiano makes an amused sound above him. "I should tell you," Cristiano says, arm holding Neymar close, "that I did talk to Leo. While you were sleeping."

Neymar looks up in surprise, the fruit forgotten. "You did?"

Cristiano nods, flashing a smile. "I didn't expect for you to sleep so long." Neymar goes to protest but Cristiano shakes his head. "No, I mean," he says, "if you needed the rest, it's a good thing that you got it." He looks earnestly at Neymar. "And maybe I should have woken you up, but I couldn't when you looked so tired."

Neymar looks down at the plate, eating a slice of apple. "How was he?" Neymar asks, trying to push down his own feelings. Truthfully he's both hurt and angry that Cristiano didn't wake him up, especially since Cristiano knew how much he wanted to talk to Leo.

Cristiano's hand lets go of Neymar and smooths through Neymar's hair. "Upset," Cristiano says quietly. "Mad."

Neymar chews thoughtfully. "About the game?"

Cristiano laughs. "Yes," he says, fingers combing through Neymar's curls. "And at me."

Neymar turns to look at Cristiano directly, a piece of banana between his fingers. "What? Why?"

Cristiano bites his lip. "Because I said you were upset. And then I wouldn't wake you up." He shrugs. "He was in a pissy mood. You know how he gets after a loss... And we fought a little. Because I said you weren't used to this side of him--where he doesn't answer calls and freezes people out. I said normally you were with him when this happened, and that it hurt you when he didn't answer."

Neymar smushes the banana in his fingers without meaning to. "And that made him mad? That I was upset with him?"

Cristiano shakes his head. "No, he was mad because I refused to wake you up." He twists a finger around one of Neymar's curls. "He wanted to apologize, to talk to you and try to explain things--and I told him he'd have to wait. That he should have answered when you'd called, and now you were getting some much-needed rest." Cristiano grins. "He was angry."

Neymar looks at him incredulously. "Why are you smiling?"

Cristiano shrugs again. "I told you, I like it when he gets mad. Besides, he knew I was right and he was wrong. Didn't make him any happier, but when he cools off he'll apologize. Both to me, and to you."

Neymar eats his mushy banana slice. “Hmm,” he says. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing that he’s mad before the game.” He looks over at the television, half wanting the game to be on, but also half wishing that it were over with so that he didn’t have to deal with the fallout.

Cristiano leans back against the couch. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” His eyes flick at Neymar’s mouth for a moment. “He’s fired up either way. Embarrassed about losing 4-0.” He looks knowingly at Neymar. “It’s pretty unlikely that you guys will win by enough to turn this around.”

Neymar sighs. He looks down at his fruit, noting that he’s made the happy face disappear. “Yeah,” he says, a little sullenly. “We could do it, though,” he mumbles, trying to be positive. “If anyone could, we could. Leo could.”

Cristiano doesn’t disagree. “Anything is possible,” he says quietly, suddenly getting up and going to get a blanket from the cupboard in the corner. He takes it spreads it over Neymar’s legs, deliberately not looking at Neymar while he does so.

Neymar pauses, smoothing a hand over the fabric. It’s a fleecy one, and one of his favorites. He’s not sure how Cristiano knew that. “Thanks,” he says, patting the seat next to him. “Why don’t you help warm me up too?” he suggests, trying to flutter his eyelashes at Cristiano.

Cristiano smiles, sitting down next to Neymar again, but not exactly where Neymar had indicated. “That's what the blanket is for. Comfy couch,” he says, rubbing the armrest. “Even through this sheet.”

Neymar frowns, a touch annoyed Cristiano isn’t closer. He draws his hand back to himself and eats another slice of strawberry. “Yeah,” he agrees, looking down at the plate and taking a piece of apple. “I forget where I got it. Some place Dani recommended,” he finally says, chewing slowly, hoping it’ll get a spark out of Cristiano.

Cristiano just hums, though, not seeming that interested.

Neymar makes a face. He eats a spoonful of yogurt. It’s good, which annoys him, so he eats another after that. “Thanks for getting me the food,” he says, deciding to try to forget the whole kale incident.

Cristiano waves a hand. He seems focused on the television.

Neymar looks over too, unable to keep the smile off his face as he sees Leo warming up. “He looks good,” he says quietly.

Cristiano keeps his eyes on Leo. “He does,” he agrees, sounding fond. He licks his lips and reaches for the remote to turn the sound on. The announcer’s voice immediately starts talking about how Barcelona will need to score four goals to equal Athletic Bilbao’s win from the first leg.

Neymar half wishes Cristiano would mute it again, thinking maybe they could talk some more. But every time he looks over at Cristiano, the other man is staring intently at Leo on television—and he clearly has no interest talking. So Neymar sighs and finishes his fruit and yogurt, setting the plate down so he can focus on drinking his juice.

Cristiano tears his gaze away from the television to look approvingly at the empty plate.

Neymar brightens, wiggling his eyebrows, hoping that Cristiano will praise him a bit.

Cristiano does open his mouth, but just then the players come out on the field and start to get into position, so his attention goes back to the screen.

Neymar pouts, sipping his orange juice. He doesn’t have much time to be disappointed, though, because the whistle blows and he follows Cristiano’s lead.

The game is, well, disappointing.

It’s not like they don’t have their chances. Because they do. Leo has a couple of amazing dribbles and diagonal passes. Luis boots it over the goal a few times. Leo hits just over the net on a free kick. He’s constantly looking for his teammates in the box, but nothing much is happening.

And then, Leo scores just before halftime.

Neymar almost spills his juice all over himself as Cristiano roars, “Get in!” at the television.

It is a lovely goal, though. Ivan chips it across the box, Luis bumps it off his chest to Leo who settles it and slots it neatly inside.

Cristiano hits the arm of the couch, excited. “Nice,” he admits, settling back down almost immediately after. Neymar raises an eyebrow at him, surprised to see him so enthusiastic, but Cristiano just shrugs. “What?” he asks, looking back at the television. “It was.”

The problem is that it’s only 1-0 at halftime. And Neymar finds it hard to breathe knowing that unless they really dial it up, they’re not going to get three more goals.

Cristiano looks calm, and Neymar wonders if he's secretly nervous.

But then Athletic Bilbao ties it up more than halfway through the second half.

“Well that’s that,” Cristiano says, still looking at the television. “It’s over.”

“It is not,” Neymar protests, clutching his glass closer. He finished his juice about ten minutes earlier, but he hasn’t been able to move. “There’s still like 15 minutes plus extra time. We can do that. We can!” Cristiano doesn’t reply, and Neymar feels himself droop. “We can,” he says, this time almost to himself. “We can.”

Cristiano looks at him pityingly. “Maybe,” he offers, but then shakes his head. “It would have been different with you there, I know.” He looks back at the television. “But I think you’d better prepare yourself.”

Neymar watches the rest of the game in silence. Watches his teammates walk around with their heads hanging. Watches Leo tip his head up to the sky, like he’s pained by what just happened.

Cristiano turns it off then.

“Time for bed, I think,” he says, setting the remote down on the table. He stands and picks up Neymar’s empty plate and holds his hand out for Neymar’s empty glass. “I’ll take that,” he says when Neymar just looks at him in confusion.

“Oh,” Neymar says, handing it over. “Thanks.” He watches Cristiano walk into the kitchen, listens to the sound of the water running and dishes clinking against each other. He finds that he feels a bit numb.

Sad and numb.

He worries the fleece of his blanket between his fingertips, wishing he didn’t feel so shitty.

Cristiano comes back in and smiles at him, leaning in the doorway. “Bed?” he asks, scratching his stomach. The motion ruffles his shirt up and Neymar’s eyes glaze over.

“Yeah,” Neymar says, spirits starting to pick up. “Yeah, definitely.” He tosses the blanket onto the couch and springs up, feeling better almost instantly. “I feel tired, but not tired at the same time. You know? Probably the food helped a lot.”

Cristiano laughs, catching his hand and tangling their fingers together. Neymar smiles brilliantly up at him, enjoying the feeling now that his fingers aren’t ridiculously swollen anymore.

Cristiano leads him up the stairs and opens the door to Neymar’s bedroom. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Cristiano says, leaning in the doorway as Neymar walks over and sits on the side of the bed.

“Me too,” Neymar says, fluttering his eyelashes a little again, knowing that this time Cristiano is definitely looking at him. And he’s rewarded with a slight hitch in Cristiano’s breathing.

“Well,” Cristiano says, clearing his throat. “Good night, then.” He turns and acts like he’s going to shut the door.

Neymar kneels up onto the bed. “Wait! What—where are you going?” he asks, barely able to believe what he’s seeing. “Aren’t you going to keep my company?” He tries to splay his legs and tilt his neck up in a way he thinks is attractive.

Cristiano just shakes his head, though. “I want you to get some rest,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” And then he pulls the door closed, throwing a quick, “Goodnight, pretty boy,” as he does so.

Neymar stares at the door. “What the fucking fuck?!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. I'm sorry it's been months. I got stuck on this chapter for the longest time. And I'm really sorry. I would try to work on it and nothing would happen. The words just wouldn't come out. And I when I finally would write something, it would be total crap. So I had to step away from it for a little bit, and I've only been able to come back to it recently. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Savia who helped me figure out how to finish this chapter and connect it to what I wanted to happen in the next chapter. If you haven't read her fabulous fic, you definitely should-->[Stillgold on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stillgold/pseuds/stillgold/works)
> 
>  
> 
> And also thank you to everyone who left a comment to encourage me. I really really appreciate that. I can't tell you how it made me feel to see those comments. But thank you. I loved every single one.


	6. chapter 6 (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar’s face burns. He’s just making them both miserable, and yet he doesn’t know what else to do. This was supposed to be him standing up for himself and telling Cristiano what he wanted, and yet all he’s done is been an ass. Being annoying probably isn’t going to get them anywhere, though, so he summons a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says sweetly, trying another approach. “I don’t like being alone.”
> 
> Cristiano doesn’t look up from his paperwork this time. “You’re not alone,” he says, seeming focused. “I saw Jo this morning. He looked slightly more aware before he threw another water bottle at me and retreated. I’m fairly sure he knows exactly what he’s doing now because he loaded his arms up with water and food before he ran away.” 
> 
> Neymar smiles at that, but then frowns when he realizes that Cristiano’s not getting his point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people remember this fic. Well, I hope they want to remember it.

Neymar goes down the stairs the next morning feeling like a new man. He’s showered, brushed his teeth, practiced his smile in the mirror, and then put on one of his favorite shirts along with a pair of comfy shorts. (Oh and some new CR7s. Just for luck.) Mumps? What mumps? He’s ready for his life to begin anew.

And he’s also ready to pay Cristiano back for last night.

Because if Cristiano thinks that Neymar’s just going to let him get away with that… Well…

He’s not, okay?

And this is what Neymar’s repeating to himself as he strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t know what he’s going to say or do, he just knows that he’s not going to sit back and let Cristiano decide everything again. Because this is his house, and this is his body, and he’s part of this relationship, dammit. 

Of course, none of this matters when Neymar comes face to face with Cristiano again.

The other man’s dressed casually again, wearing another white t-shirt, this time with sweatpants. He’s eating a bowl of cereal, like yesterday, and nearly finished. His hair is mussed like he hasn’t gelled it, and his eyelashes look so incredibly long…

Neymar shakes his head. “Hey,” he says, heading for the fridge. It occurs to him that he probably only has food because of Cristiano’s shopping, but he doesn’t feel like saying thanks right now. He grabs the milk and shuts the fridge behind him, brushing by Cristiano to reach for a bowl so he can make oatmeal. 

“Good morning,” Cristiano says, moving to the side so Neymar can reach the cabinet. He doesn’t comment on the way that Neymar rudely tries to open it and almost hits him in the face. “Hope you slept well,” Cristiano continues, shutting the cabinet door when Neymar leaves it open to move down the counter to the microwave. “Do you want me to make you anything? Eggs? Pancakes?”

Neymar makes a face, acting like he’s fine with his oatmeal. He stirs the milk and the oats together and then turns on the microwave. “No,” he says shortly, moving over to the fruit bowl. It’s completely filled with oranges and bananas and apples. There’s even a pineapple that smells positively delicious and Neymar pauses before realizing that he doesn’t know how to cut pineapple so he’ll just look stupid if he tries. He opens a banana and peels it, biting off the end a little savagely. He just leans against the counter and waits for the microwave to ding, chewing his way through his banana. When he’s finished he tosses the peel towards the sink, despite knowing it should go in the trash.

Cristiano raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move. He finishes his last spoonful of cereal and then drinks the rest of the milk from the bowl. Then he leans down and puts his dish and spoon in the dishwasher, closing the door neatly. “Okay,” he says simply, entirely unbothered, leaving the kitchen to go sit on the couch.

The microwave goes off and Neymar grimaces. He pulls out his oatmeal, stirring it glumly and then burning his mouth with his first bite. He *does* want something else, but he also doesn’t want Cristiano to make it because that would mean that Cristiano’s winning. He swallows another spoonful of his oatmeal and then follows Cristiano into the other room. As he sits on the couch next to him, he flicks on the tv and tries to pretend that he’d be sitting here even if Cristiano weren’t.

Cristiano ignores him, pulling his legs up to his chest and using his knees as a table while he examines some paperwork he’s apparently retrieved from his duffle bag.

Neymar’s curious, but he keeps his eyes on tv. He doesn’t even know what he picked to watch, and he stares blankly at it while he tries to think of what to say and do. Finally, he just asks. “What are you reading?”

Cristiano looks up and smiles at him like he’s flattered Neymar’s shown interest. “Just some ideas for future projects,” he says, tilting them so Neymar can see the long list. There are bulleted paragraphs with descriptions of people and places and things, followed by addresses and phone numbers and emails. “If something sounds promising,” he explains, pointing to one near the middle, “then I’ll send an email asking for more information.” 

Neymar nods and says, “Looks boring,” before he can bite his tongue. He turns away from Cristiano so that he doesn’t have to see the look of disappointment on his face, taking another bite of oatmeal. His hands are shaking because he’s ashamed of his behavior and as a result, he embarrassingly gets a bit on his upper lip. He swipes his tongue out to catch it.

Cristiano doesn’t reply, and when Neymar sneaks a peek, he can see that Cristiano has slightly turned away from him—still using his knees as a table, but now Cristiano’s leaning the other way from Neymar.

Neymar’s face burns. He’s just making them both miserable, and yet he doesn’t know what else to do. This was supposed to be him standing up for himself and telling Cristiano what he wanted, and yet all he’s done is been an ass. Being annoying probably isn’t going to get them anywhere, though, so he summons a smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says sweetly, trying another approach. “I don’t like being alone.”

Cristiano doesn’t look up from his paperwork this time. “You’re not alone,” he says, seeming focused. “I saw Jo this morning. He looked slightly more aware before he threw another water bottle at me and retreated. I’m fairly sure he knows exactly what he’s doing now because he loaded his arms up with water and food before he ran away.” 

Neymar smiles at that, but then frowns when he realizes that Cristiano’s not getting his point.

“No,” Neymar says, finishing up his oatmeal and setting his bowl down on the table. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here.” He bites his lip and draws it into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue when he bites a little too hard. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated,” he finally says, hoping Cristiano will talk to him.

Cristiano makes a sound of understanding but keeps staring at his papers. 

Neymar grits his teeth. “I’m frustrated,” he says, repeating it louder when Cristiano seems to ignore him. He bangs his foot on the table and then stands up and walks back into the kitchen. He’s already in there when he remembers he should have brought his empty bowl in with him, so he stomps back out there to grab it.

Cristiano’s papers are on the table. “Can I ask why you’re upset with me?” Cristiano finally asks, looking tired. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, seeming uncaring that the strands are in such disarray. “I don’t know why you’re frustrated… I thought we discussed everything yesterday—about me, about you, about Leo… I thought you were feeling better. And yet, all you’ve done since you’ve come down here this morning was be a brat.”

Neymar feels a twist of anger in his stomach again. 

It’s anger and pain and nerves all turning to a giant ball of insecurity. He groans and pulls his shirt up over to cover his face. This isn’t how he wanted things to go, didn’t want things to be like this at all.

And suddenly, Neymar can’t help but blurt out, “Why won’t you fuck me?”

He drops his shirt back down again to stare at Cristiano, wanting answers. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. He waves his hands in front of him and wiggles his fingers. “Look, not sausages anymore. I’m back to normal!” He points at the dish on the table. “And my appetite is back, I’m eating normal food. So I’m fine.” He doesn’t know what else to say when Cristiano rubs his eyes again. 

Neymar feels tears come to his eyes, knows he’s getting upset. He starts breathing faster, his shirt feeling a little too tight all of a sudden, so he tears it off and throws it on the ground. “Look at me! Look at my body! I’m fine, everything is fine! So why won’t you fuck me?!”

Cristiano’s still not looking at him, so Neymar strides over to the couch and sits right next to him. He bounces on his knees, leaning into Cristiano’s space so much that he can feel the other man’s body heat. “Why won’t you fuck me?” Neymar asks furiously, for the third time, all of his pain and nerves building until he can’t take it anymore and thinks he’s going to die.

And then Cristiano turns his head. His eyes are smoldering.

“You think I don’t want to fuck you?” Cristiano asks softly. He raises up on his knees and faces Neymar, lips pressed together like he’s afraid he’s going to say something he’ll regret. He reaches for Neymar and grabs Neymar’s hand, turning it over, palm up.

Neymar flinches, not understanding.

Cristiano pulls Neymar’s hand toward him, right down between his legs. “You feel that?” Cristiano says quietly. “You feel what you do to me?” he asks, rubbing Neymar’s hand across the bulge in his sweatpants, moving his hips up into Neymar’s palm.

Neymar gulps.

Because Cristiano is hard. *Very hard*.

“That’s from just seeing you—just hearing you!” Cristiano growls. “That’s from you licking oatmeal off your lips, that pink little tongue flicking out innocently like you had no idea what you were doing to me… and when you raised your shirt up?? Showing off that gorgeous, flat stomach,” Cristiano continues, holding Neymar’s hand against him while Neymar stares at him open-mouthed. “You think I don’t want to fuck you? Oh, no, sweetheart,” Cristiano says, his other hand sliding to Neymar’s waist. “I want to fuck you. Even when you’re being a brat, I want to bend you over the couch.”

Neymar shudders, feeling Cristiano’s finger tips sliding along his side to stroke his hip.

He can’t remember what he was saying.

Can’t remember anything.

Cristiano is so hot beneath his hand, even through the sweats Neymar can feel him pulsing and throbbing. “Fuck,” Neymar groans, licking his lips, his hand starting to rub back and forth of its own volition. He hasn’t touched anyone like this in so long, and to know that Cristiano’s aroused—*because of him*—makes him even more eager. “I—I thought,” he stammers, shivering, “you didn’t want me. Because last night—,” he says.

Cristiano cuts him off. “Last night, my pretty boy,” he says as he moves his other hand to Neymar’s waist too. “Last night you were upset about the loss.” His thumbs dip down into Neymar’s shorts so he can trail teasingly over the waistband of Neymar’s underwear. “I didn’t want you to use me to make you feel better.”

Neymar gives him a withering glance, pulling his hand back to himself and sitting back on his heels.

“That’s not it,” Neymar protests, even as Cristiano looks at him expectantly. “I just wanted you, okay? Does everything have to be some long, drawn out plan with you? Do you really think I think things through like that?” He kneels up, keeping his back straight so he can kinda loom over Cristiano. 

He tries to ignore the fingers that are now dipping underneath his waistband.

“It wasn’t about making myself feel better because we lost,” he says, sucking in a breath as Cristiano scrapes his nails along Neymar’s lower back and moves dangerously close to the swell of his ass. “I just wanted to get fucked, okay?” he finally says in a rush, arching as Cristiano’s hands casually slip lower to cup his bare cheeks inside his underwear.

Cristiano grins, squeezing. He pulls Neymar closer until Neymar's straddling him.

Neymar can feel how hard Cristiano is beneath him and his cock is perking up in response. Maybe he should feel embarrassed at how much he wants Cristiano inside him, but at the moment all he can think of is how good it'll feel... of how long it's really been since he's felt that... His hands settle on to Cristiano's shoulders and he starts to rock. “I—I—,” he stammers, licking his lips, shuddering at the sensation.

"Tell me again," Cristiano whispers, rolling Neymar's cheeks in his palms, pulling him apart and holding him open. 

Neymar arches. “I want to get fucked!” He tries to grind down against Cristiano some more, pleasure shooting through his body at the friction. “Cristiano,” he cries, lowering his head to hide his face against Cristiano’s throat. He inhales deeply while Cristiano’s fingers keep him in place. “Please,” he moans, suddenly overcome. “Please, don’t tease me…”

Cristiano’s hands slip out of his underwear, and move up his back, sliding up until they’re threaded in his curls. “I don’t tease, pretty boy.” He tugs Neymar’s head back until he can see him and then kisses him right where his throat meets his jaw. “But I *will* fuck you,” he promises, mouthing at the skin while Neymar moans again.

And then he’s got his hands on Neymar’s hips and he’s getting to his feet, holding Neymar up effortlessly.

“*Should* I bend you over the back of the couch?” Cristiano asks, while Neymar’s arms lock around his neck. He heaves Neymar higher, arms wrapping around his ass securely. “Is that what you want?” he asks, lowering his voice to make Neymar shiver.

Neymar’s throat goes dry. “I—I—,” he stammers, feeling Cristiano’s hard stomach against his cock. 

He has a faint memory of Cristiano carrying him like this before, but it’s fuzzy and he thinks it might have just been a dream.

A nice dream.

But a dream, nonetheless.

Cristiano laughs. “Oh, that might be nice. But another time. Because I know how you really want it,” he purrs, bouncing Neymar up and down, clearly having fun now. “It’s what you’ve been dreaming of, isn’t it?” He asks as if he’s reading Neymar’s mind.

Neymar stares at him, for a few seconds, wondering if Cristiano really can read minds…

But then Cristiano starts to walk towards the stairs, and Cristiano’s sure strides make Neymar forget everything. Meanwhile, Cristiano’s ignoring the way Neymar’s still trying to get his brain to function. “I told you I knew. Ever since you walked in on me and Leo, I knew you wanted it that way. Isn’t that right?” Cristiano asks.

Neymar gasps as Cristiano starts to climb the stairs, the movement making him ache in all the right ways.

“Of course it’s right,” Cristiano continues, looking gleeful as Neymar licks his lips and tries to breathe. “You got hot when I even mentioned it before, didn’t you? You couldn’t keep from touching yourself right there in the tub—had to touch that pretty little cock of yours until you made a mess in the water.” 

Neymar swallows, wanting to deny it, but the mention of the tub making him clutch harder at Cristiano’s neck. “I do want that,” he whispers, half to himself and half to Cristiano. “I want that and more,” he admits, gripping Cristiano’s shirt and wishing he could rip it to pieces. “And you’re gonna give it to me,” he says, trying to regain his composure.

“Oh, am I?” Cristiano asks, grinning, as they reach the top of the stairs and head for Neymar’s bedroom. 

“You are,” Neymar says, gaining confidence now. His fingers lose their grip and instead he begins to tug Cristiano’s shirt to the side so he can draw lines across that tanned neck. “After all,” he says, letting his nails graze slightly, “you’re not a tease, right?”

He ducks his head as Cristiano carries him through the doorway.

“Look at you,” Cristiano says ruefully, shaking his head. “So sure of yourself,” he says, dodging Mt. Recycling and making his way over to the bed. He arches his neck to make Neymar stop pulling on his shirt. “Let go, now.”

And then he drops Neymar onto the bed.

Neymar bounces on the mattress, legs splayed as he spreads his arms and sighs. Then he sits up and leans back on his elbows. “I am sure of myself, now. Maybe I wasn’t before, but I think I finally am. Or are you saying that you aren’t going to fuck me, after all?” he asks, tilting his head up challengingly. He can feel that his shorts have slid down slightly, and he knows that his CR7 waistband is showing.

(Along with the dips in his hip bones.)

Cristiano grins again, reaching for the hem of his own shirt and pulling it up over his head. “Oh, no, sweetheart,” he says, twirling the shirt around in his hand. He lifts his head and stands up straight to draw attention to his chest before tossing his shirt over onto Neymar’s chair. “I’m most certainly going to fuck you.”

Neymar can’t control his excitement, his cock jerking in his clothes just from Cristiano’s voice. There’s probably a wet spot forming on his briefs and Neymar knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

But it's the second time Cristiano's called him that.

“Leo’s your sweetheart,” Neymar says absentmindedly, a touch of regret in his voice. He begins running his eyes down Cristiano’s bare chest, greedily taking in the gorgeous muscles and the glorious v-line. His throat was dry before, but now his mouth starts to water. “He’s your sweetheart, and I’m just—I’m just me.”

It’s not so bad to be *just* him, anyway. 

Neymar can deal with that. 

Cristiano laughs, running his hand down his body in what almost certainly has to be a practiced move. “You’re cute. Leo’s my sweetheart, but I don’t see Leo here,” he says, looking from one side of the room to the other. His tongue pokes out from between his teeth and he smiles cheekily. “I only see you and me, tonight.”

"Yes, but--," Neymar says, starting to get distracted as Cristiano's hands move down to toy with the string on his sweatpants. "Oh," Neymar breathes, desperately wanting Cristiano to continue taking his clothes off. 

Cristiano doesn’t play around much longer. He drops his sweats without ceremony, as if he knows what Neymar's hoping for. He stands there, swiveling slightly, letting the pants pool on the floor around his ankles. Then he kicks them to the side. “So, sweetheart,” he says, enunciating slowly, “you're going to be saying, 'Oh,’ an awful lot," he says, wiggling his eyebrows. "'Oh, yes, oh, please, oh, more,'" Cristiano mimics, hooking his thumbs in his briefs. "'Oh, Cristiano, fuck me harder!'"

As he begins to pull them down, Neymar collapses on his back and stares up at the ceiling. "Oh, god, shut up," he pants, palming himself and closing his eyes. Truthfully, the combination of Cristiano's voice and body are a little hard to take. As in, they make him incredibly hard and he can't take much more of them before he comes in his underwear just like he came in the tub. "Just," he says, digging the heels of his feet into the bed, "stop talking and get over here."

He feels the mattress dipping and a hot hand sliding across his knee, but he keeps his eyes closed and continues to focus on breathing. 

"Hmmm," Cristiano hums, nails slightly scratching under Neymar's shorts and towards his inner thigh. "I'd almost believe you wanted that, except for the way your hips move when I speak." His fingers rub back and forth over Neymar's thigh suggestively, slowly dragging the tips over the silky skin. "I think you like it a little too much," he says confidently.

Neymar's eyes slit open. "You said you weren't a tease," he murmurs. He gathers his strength and bats away Cristiano's hand, raising his hips so that he can pull down his shorts and chuck them over the bed. "Although you seem like the type, to me," he says, resuming his previous position. He keeps his legs splayed and his hand returns to palming himself when he accidentally catches Cristiano's eye.

His eyes.

His lips.

His everything.

Cristiano leans on his elbow on the mattress, entirely at ease with his nudity. He looks like he hasn’t a care in the world, as if he’s about to take some pictures for some new campaign—or about to shoot some kind of porno. Especially since he’s looming over Neymar and smiling appreciatively at what he sees. "What do you know about it? Have a lot of experience?” he asks, hand finding Neymar's knee again. Then he tilts his head. "If I'm a tease," he admits, fingers starting to tickle the underside, "it's only because you want me to be.”

Neymar's about to protest that when Cristiano leans closer. 

"You're wearing them," Cristiano says, sounding pleased. At Neymar's questioning look, his hand strokes across Neymar's stomach, thumb brushing Neymar's CR7 waistband. "I knew they'd suit you. I’ll have to get you a lot more. Of course, you’ll look good in all of them. I’m sure.“

A flicker of pleasure flows into Neymar's belly and he tries not to preen, although he probably doesn't succeed if Cristiano's widening smile is anything to go by. 

"Well," Neymar lies, sucking in his stomach as Cristiano begins to circle his belly button, "I didn’t choose them on purpose. I just pulled on the first pair I saw." He’s lost the pudge from the mumps, but he still wishes his stomach were flatter and more muscled. Once he’s back to his normal routine it’ll probably get back to normal. 

Not that it seems to bother Cristiano at all.

As Cristiano continues to circle, Neymar’s toes curl and he desperately tries to keep still. “Could have been anything, any of them. I’ve got lots of underwear, of course. Boxers, briefs. You know, Nike, Lupo," he rambles, trying to think of what other brands he wears. “Like, a lot. Those sponsor deals really take care of it, but you know all that.”

He can't think though.

He can't think of anything.

“So it was just, with my clothes there, whatever the first pair was," Neymar repeats, gasping as Cristiano's questing finger tangles itself underneath the waistband. It rests there a moment, and Cristiano's eyes flick towards Neymar's as if asking permission. And when Neymar only gapes at him, beyond ready, Cristiano starts to tug the fabric down. "I--," Neymar breathes, feeling his cock twitch as it hits the cold air. "Did I mention? I think, sometimes I wear Lupo?"

Cristiano laughs, but it's kind. “You did, my pretty boy. And I like you in Lupo. But, I like you wearing these more. I like you being in my brand.” His one finger is joined by his others, and then by his second hand, and soon Neymar's dressed in only his skin. The CR7s join Neymar’s shorts somewhere on the floor. “Or out of them, should I say?”

Good thing, too, because Neymar is feeling overheated all of a sudden.

"Look at you," Cristiano says. He presses on Neymar's thigh, hand moving dangerously close to Neymar's cock. "Aren't you glad you let me in now?" he asks, slinking to between Neymar's legs. He tilts his head as if he’s thinking. “In a way, it’s a good thing you never answered your phone. It made me come here, I suppose.” 

Neymar spreads his knees, welcoming him eagerly. “Yes, absolutely, this was all my evil plan to get you into bed. I was definitely scheming the whole time. Every time you called, I said to myself, ‘Now, Neymar, remember, don’t answer so that Cristiano has to drop everything and fly to Barcelona,’” he rambles. And when Cristiano’s hand starts to move away from his cock, Neymar sucks in a deep breath and tries to look apologetic. “Okay, okay, I’m glad I let you in. I’d be even more glad if you got to it.”

Cristiano smiles smugly, apparently not in a hurry. He reaches behind himself to find Neymar's feet, hands sliding over the tops of them before finding Neymar's ankles. "I love your legs," he mentions offhandedly, slowly moving up to cup Neymar's calves. "You look so graceful when you run." He takes his time, smoothing over the skin, squeezing, massaging, playing. “Beautiful.”

Neymar's toes curl again, unaccustomed to such compliments.

“That’s, well… You're one to talk. You’re taller than me by a little bit. And your legs are pretty wow. Never skip leg day, probably,” he replies, trying to pull his legs free and wanting to speed things along. But Cristiano's grip is strong, and when he tsks, Neymar's forced to give up his struggle.

In his defense, he hasn’t eaten much this week.

So, maybe he’s a little weaker.

In a fair fight, he’d totally win.

Probably.

Maybe.

Cristiano grins at him triumphantly. "Graceful," he repeats. “I think they’ll look even more beautiful soon, though,” he adds. He waits until Neymar's looking curiously at him. "Around my waist, that is,“ Cristiano says, clearly amused at his own cleverness. He laughs at the look on Neymar’s face before resuming his fondling. "So long, too," he continues, reaching Neymar's knees, massaging gently just around the kneecaps. "Possibilities, possibilities."

Neymar licks his lips, torn between wishing Cristiano would continue to say pretty things or just touch his cock already. He’s dripping all over his stomach now. Cristiano’s is bobbing between his legs, but he seems to have enough will power to focus on Neymar. Neymar doesn’t know how he does it. "What do you mean? What possibilities?”

"Well, Leo's short as fuck," Cristiano says, ignoring Neymar's outraged look. “The angles are off sometimes. Hurts my back having to lean down so low. Haven’t you noticed when you guys…?” His fingers move towards Neymar's inner thighs again, stroking back and forth like he's fixated. "But we won't have that problem with you, will we? Deliciously long limbed.” 

Neymar arches a little, wanting to defend Leo but incredibly, incredibly distracted. His hands grab at the sheets underneath him and he tries to think. What he really wants to say is that every time with Leo has been brilliant, amazing, the best in the world—he’s been overwhelmed with sensation and feeling and ecstasy every time they’ve made love. 

And he’s never once tried to imagine it a different way. 

Leo’s smile flashes in front of his face and Neymar can’t help smiling in return. Finally, he finds his words. "He's not short, he’s perfectly sized! Perfect the way he is! I love him and wouldn’t change a thing about him. And, and, you said he was perfect, too!”

Cristiano laughs again. "Of course he is," he says instantly, mollifying Neymar. “Short and perfect. Our perfect little love.” Then he finally grips Neymar's cock and starts to pump him, smiling pleasantly as Neymar whimpers and one hand grabs his wrist. "Nothing wrong with being short. Except maybe here, huh?" he adds. "And we both know Leo's got nothing to worry about in that area."

Neymar moans, linking his ankles behind Cristiano's back and trying to pull him closer. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, throwing his head back and trying not to bite through his lip when Cristiano begins twisting his wrist in a certain way. "You are a tease!"

Cristiano merely bends down and threads his other hand through Neymar's hair. "And you love it," he whispers, tugging Neymar's head to the side so he can gently bite along Neymar's jawline. "Every fucking second of it. Don’t you?“ he says softly, soothing with his lips and tongue, worrying the spot until there's surely some sort of bruise forming. 

He pays special attention to where’s Neymar’s tattoo is, kissing it lightly. 

Neymar huffs, trying to squeeze the breath out of Cristiano. “I don’t think I knew you talked this much.” His eyes flutter shut as Cristiano’s mouth goes back to nibbling at his neck. “And people say that I’m a chatter—,” he gasps as Cristiano’s teeth graze a little harder. 

“You were saying,” Cristiano murmurs, and Neymar can feel him smiling against his skin.

Neymar blindly reaches out for Cristiano, clinging to his neck and tangling his fingers in his hair. It’s just long enough for his fingers to tug and he does so without meaning to, utterly desperate now. “Please, Cristiano,” he pleads. “Please!” He tries to pull Cristiano’s head up, but Cristiano again is too strong to direct.

Cristiano’s hands go to Neymar’s hips, holding him down on the bed. “Patience,” he murmurs, sucking a kiss into the hollow of Neymar’s throat. Then he travels downward, flicking his tongue against one of Neymar’s nipples, teasing the little bud into hardness before taking it into his mouth. 

Neymar jolts, feeling the pleasure shoot through his body. He grips Cristiano’s hair tighter, breathing faster. 

Cristiano’s mouth is gloriously wet, sucking while his tongue swirls around playfully. When he’s satisfied, he releases it, blowing hotly to watch Neymar shiver. Then he turns his attention to Neymar’s other nipple, repeating the treatment he’d given the first, until both are hard and Neymar’s aching and arching upwards. “Aren’t these pretty?” Cristiano says, chin resting on Neymar’s chest. His hand slides up Neymar’s rib cage to thumb one appreciatively. He smooths around some of the wetness, looking up at Neymar gleefully. “Leo’s sensitive here, too. How did I get so lucky, hmmm?” 

Neymar groans. 

But truthfully, he thinks he’s the lucky one.

Cristiano doesn’t seem to need an answer. He raises himself onto his knees, sitting back on heels and looking down at Neymar curiously. His hands go back to Neymar’s thighs, spreading Neymar apart slightly. “You remember the last time we were in this room together?” he asks. He starts to push Neymar’s legs towards his chest. “You had Leo like this—had him open and vulnerable, entirely at your mercy.”

Neymar grips the sheets. “I remember,” he pants, feeling utterly exposed.

“The two of you looked so beautiful,” Cristiano says honestly, sounding heartfelt. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and focuses on Neymar’s. “I knew you were going to take such good care of him, were going to make sure that he felt only the best things.” His fingers shift their grip. “And I trusted you like he trusted you. To protect him. Because you loved him,” he says quietly.

Neymar’s nails are digging into the fabric so hard that he’s afraid he’s going to rip it, but he’s staring open-mouthed at Cristiano and unable to look away. “Yes,” he eventually manages, licking his lips frantically. “Yes.”

“And now, even though we’re in the same place, back in your bedroom again, it’s a little different. Isn’t it? Do you trust me?” Cristiano asks. “Even though Leo’s not here, and it’s just the two of us, do you trust that I’m going to take good care of you?” 

“You have to ask now?” Neymar says, letting go of the sheets to cradle Cristiano’s face. He can barely breathe, his legs still pressed up to his chest, his cock leaking all over his stomach. But his thumb smooths across Cristiano’s lips, dragging the bottom one down slightly. “Think I would be here if I didn’t want to be here? If I thought you didn’t care about me?” He pulls Cristiano down towards him. “I trust you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against Cristiano’s. “And I’m right where I want to be.”

The kiss is sweet, sweeter than Neymar thought it would be. 

There’s passion there, bubbling beneath the surface, but the two of them don’t let it rise quite yet. Their kiss is light, airy, filled with feeling and promises. 

And something that Neymar thinks might be turning into love.

Neymar lets go of Cristiano’s face, opening his eyes to see that Cristiano’s are still closed. “Do you believe me?” Neymar asks, somehow struck by the thought that sometimes Cristiano needs reassurance just like the rest of them. “I want to be here, with you. And I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. Leo, or no Leo, I’ve thought about it… wondered what it would be like for us to be together.”

And it’s true.

It’s all true.

He’s loved Leo for so long, but Cristiano…? Neymar’s been intrigued by him ever since that day he walked in on them. It hadn’t been about feelings at first, but Neymar had been aroused at just seeing Cristiano pushing someone up against the wall. It had been fucking hot.

And Neymar had been a bit jealous.

He’d wanted to be part of it. Wanted to have Cristiano hoisting him up, holding his thighs around his waist, fucking him into the wall. And every time he’d seen Leo and Cristiano after that, those same thoughts had flown through his mind. He’d wanted to know what it would be like to be in Leo’s place—to have Cristiano’s full attention…

He still wants it.

Cristiano opens his eyes then, and they’re clear without any hint of uncertainty. He smiles brilliant white teeth. “Then wonder no longer,” he says brightly. He tilts his head to the side. “Which drawer has your giant collection of lube, again?”

Neymar blushes furiously. “Fuck you,” he says, he manages to nudge Cristiano’s arm with his toes and then turns and reaches for the drawer in his nightstand. He can’t quite reach and he decides to be lazy, just stretching his arm in the direction next to his bed. “Lube’s in there,” he says, raising his eyebrows when Cristiano just stares at him. “Well, either you get it or I get it, and if I’m going to get it, you’re going to have to let me go.” He bites his lip. “Or we could try without, I guess?”

Cristiano rolls his eyes and releases Neymar’s legs. “Don’t be an idiot. Get the lube.”

Neymar wiggles on the bed, turning over onto his hands and knees so that he can knee-walk towards the drawer. He probably should be expecting the little tap on his ass, but he isn’t, and he squeaks as a result. He turns around to look at Cristiano accusingly. “Excuse me!”

“What?” Cristiano asks, hand starting to pump his own cock. “Did you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you’re waving that cute little ass in front of me?” He licks his lips. “Bring it back over here, sweetheart. Let me really get a feel for it.”

Neymar takes a deep breath, wagging his finger at Cristiano and continuing over to the drawer. “Tsk, tsk,” he mutters under his breath, leaning over and pulling the handle. He picks one at random.

And whatever Cristiano says, it is not a *gigantic collection*. It’s just… slightly larger than the typical person’s. Probably. Neymar likes to have options, that’s all.

He knee-walks back toward Cristiano, shaking the bottle in his hand victoriously. “Got it,” he says, somewhat unnecessarily, since Cristiano’s still staring at him. He feels awkward all of a sudden, again, like he’s not sure what to do next. It reminds him of the last time they’d been in this bed, and he hadn’t known what to do with Leo.

But Cristiano smiles at him, and suddenly Neymar’s worries drift away.

“Come give me another kiss,” Cristiano orders gently, waiting until Neymar’s close enough to settle his hands on his hips. This time, when their mouths meet, things are a little wilder. The kiss is all lips and teeth and tongue, hot and wet and messy as they press against each other and start to get lost. One of Cristiano’s hands slides up into Neymar’s hair, gripping the short strands tightly, while the other remains firmly on Neymar’s hip.

Neymar gives himself over to Cristiano. He clings to him, groaning as their cocks rub up against each other. It’s not enough and he starts to move, to wiggle, to rut against Cristiano’s body. His cock slides wetly in the dip of Cristiano’s thigh, making him moan in relief, and he tries to do it again, frantically moving his hips. The hand on his waist moves to his ass, grabbing a handful and teasing at his crease.

It makes Neymar squeak again.

Cristiano laughs against his lips. “I love that sound,” he mumbles, pulling Neymar’s head back so that he can kiss down his neck again. “I want to hear all your sounds,” he says between kisses, grazing his teeth over Neymar’s tattoos before soothing the spot with his tongue. “I want to hear all of your sounds, see all of your looks, feel all of your body,” he murmurs, fingers sneaking their way closer to their goal. “I want to know all of you.”

Neymar’s head lolls back and his hands lock around Cristiano’s neck. “I get it now,” he murmurs, lashes fluttering as Cristiano drops another kiss on his neck.

“What do you get?” Cristiano asks against his skin, stopping his kisses to breathe. “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” Neymar says, not having meant to say that. In the heat of the moment he lost control of his words, yet again. “Never mind,” he repeats, hands massaging the back of Cristiano’s neck. 

The truth is, he gets why someone could fall in love with Cristiano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in kinda a blah mood so here's half a chapter. Because I suck and take forever. I'm really sorry.


End file.
